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THE

POETICAL WORKS

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

HEAD OF LOCH KATRINE.

T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.

i§m?-^ iimmr£z£f?&>M

THE

POETICAL WORKS

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

WITH MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

" I.'reams that the soul of youth engage

Kre Fancy has been quelled ;

Old legends of the monkish page,

Traditions of [he saint and sage.

Tales that have the rime of age.

And chronicles of ild."

LONDON :
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;

V.IUNI3URGH; AND NEW TORE.

m>cc( r.xvni.

■Tfc

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••'UN 2 :1972

The Lay of the Last Minstrel ...
Marmion: a Tale of Flodden Field
The Ladt of the Lake
The Vision of Don Roderick ...

ROKEBT

The Lord of tiie Isles

1
71
199
303
325
429

CONTRIBUTIONS TO BORDER MINSTRELSY.

Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach

The Eve of St. John

Cadyow Castle

The Grey Brother

Thomas the Rhymer

War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons ...

MISCELLANEOUS.

HellveUyn

The Maid of Toio ... ...

The Palmer ...

Wandering Willie

The Maid of Neidpath ...

The Bard's Incantation

To a Lady

The Violet ... ... ... ... ■

Hunting Song

The Resolve ...

The Last Words of Cadwallon; or, the Dying Bard

527
533

538
543
5*7
556

558
559
559
560
561
502
5i;4
564
565
565

5o;

IV

The Norman Horse-Shoe

The Poacher ...

Song

Epitaph ... »,,

Fage
567
568
571
572

NOTES.

The Lay of the Last Minstrel

573

Marniion

580

The Lady of the Lake ...

590

The Vision of Don Roderick

5!)6

Rok'eby

5!)8

The Lord of the Isles ...

Gu4

Glenfinias

G10

The Eve of St. John

610

Cadyow Castle

611

The Grey Brother ... ... ...

612

_£££f

LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

There is an old prejudice •which strikes its roots very deep in
human nature. Christianity and commerce have hitherto striven
in vain to destroy it. It takes different forms everywhere. In
Scotland and Saxon England it exhibits itself in the distinction
created by society between gentle and simple.

The imaginary separation of humanity into these classes is the
key to the literary as well as the private character of Sir Walter
Scott. The spirit of caste is indeed the source of frightful mis-
chief in genei'al, but it has its periods of utihty and its graceful
aspects. The latter appeared in their greatest elegance in the
works and character of the Scottish bard. To inquire whether
bo amiable, so gifted, and so popular a person descended upon an
age, which his genius was fitted to bless, were to open a question
which the civilized world has long since settled for itself, by uni-
versal and prolonged acclamation.

Walter Scott was born on the 15th August 1771. The site of
the house, which was his father's, is now covered by a part of the
Edinburgh University. The poet's infancy and childhood were
principally spent at his grandfather's farm of Sandyknowe, sur-
rounding the village of Smailholm, near the banks of the Tweed,
in the upper part of Berwickshire. Associations connected with
this district accompanied him through life. The memories of his
ancestry, and the traditions of the wide family of his name, deter-
mined for ever the bent of his genius.

The child was remarkably vivacious. It seemed as if the tide
of life could not sustain the double strain exerted by the infan-
tine activities of spirit and body. The body yielded. The little
imp was only eighteen months old, when his frolics were sus-
pended by a sudden loss of power in the right leg. He was lame
for life. Every effort failed to restore the proper powers of the
limb. Yet the removals from place to place, involved in these
attempts, excited the child's predispositions, and produced inde-
lible local impressions. The growing boy indemnified himself by

VI LIFE OF SIR WXLTES SCOTT.

flights of fancy for the restraints put upon the exertions of hia
body. Yet he grew up with a powerful frame. His infirmity
disqualified him only for those exercises in which regularity and
grace of motion are indispensable. He could and did indulge in
long excursions on foot. With one arm on the shoulder of a com-
panion, and the aid of a stick at the other side, he wandered in
boyhood far and near, about the sides of Arthur Seat, " the furzy
bills of Braid," aDd the more distant Pentlands. The pleasant
slopes that surround his " own romantic town " found young
Walter an indefatigable explorer. His imagination peopled every
spot he trod or saw with the scenes and the inhabitants of former
days; and as he conjured up the past with the glowing fancy of
youth, he divested it of all its unwelcome elements. The syste-
matic education of the schools was not successful in chaining
down his mind to the rigorous processes required by the business
of life. He received, indeed, some learning there, but his true
education was the acquirement of the stores of knowledge which
his hungry spirit gathered up from every source that could minis-
ter to the growth of fancy in the romantic direction it took.

Walter Scott, the elder, was a writer to the signet, or attorney
at law, in Edinburgh. The family house was in George's Square,
then new and fashionable, now somewhat antiquated, but still a
favourite locality. But this neighbourhood involved the prudent
man of business in nothing that was inconsistent with the most
precise proprieties. The time was an age of form. The restraints
of home appear to have forced young Walter, although without
disregard of filial duty, into habits and opinions, in many respects
the reverse of his father's. The latter was Calvinistic and Pres-
byterian in his religious belief, and liberal in his politics. The
former became Jacobite, Episcopalian, and a Tory. The son
grew up in the worship of the modes of earlier generations. His
feelings were all away from the present realities of the lawyer's
home and office. But where the old tower of Harden reigns over
the Border wilds of wood and heather, where the hills and streams
of that poetic region, resonant with ballad snatches of wild humour
and pathos, mingle the ever present music of nature with the
fleeting echoes of the past, there young Walter was in spirit, if
not in the body. Not the wordy caution of legal bonds, nor the
ready witted shifts of courts of law delighted him, but the bold
adventure of that region where law was none in the days of his
ancestors. They, in reality a disgrace and a pest living mainly
by plunder, shone out through the prison of his fancy with halos
of romantic beauty, if not of honourable regard. Thus Scott, by
the power of his genius alone, subsequently peopled Scotland
throughout with airy forms, created by himself. These, when

LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Vll

united in the imagination with the present majesty of its scenery,
have made Scotland the permanent delight, as well as the passing
source of pleasure to millions of mankind.

In early youth there blazed through his eyes the light with
which his soul was kindled. Every friend, every acquaintance
saw in young Scott something beyond the common. It was not
only that the lad was bright, but there was a witchery of fascina-
tion that was irresistible. The spirit that was so powerful to
conceive was also genial to impress. There was a fire of sym-
pathy that drew all the life that surged around him into the
compass and direction of his spirit. Walter was a favourite with
young and old, and the acceptance he always met with drew out
his powers in all societies. Essentially aristocratic in all his
sentiments, there was yet a grace and kindliness about the lad
that drew towards him all hearts, and this gentle spirit Scott
ever cherished. It may not have been the true humility that
possessed his soul. It may not have been the deepest or widest
love that actuated his life. But there was that in his life and
character which refined and soothed. In that age Europe was
convulsed by war. The fiercest passions agitated for a length-
ened time the whole arena of public affairs. But Scott, the
magician, was there leavening society by the power of his art,
with his own gentleness, through the images of softening beauty
with which he filled the imaginations of men.

After leaving school, Walter Scott attended for a short time
some of the classes of the Edinburgh University. But an illness
interrupted these studies, whilst it promoted still further the
education of his fancy. He was afterwards apprenticed to his
father, as a preparation for the profession of advocate or barris-
ter. He was then under fifteen. He acquired, during his
apprenticeship, habits of regularity and method which never left
him, and became accustomed to what would probably have other-
wise been the insufferable drudgery of writing. The manuscript
pages of Waverley, exhibited in the Edinburgh Advocates'
Library, show how valuable thi3 exercise must have been to him.
We are told, besides, that notwithstanding the discursive tendency
of his mind, Scott piqued himself on being a man of business.
Indeed, the subsequent course of his affairs indicate this part of
the training of his youth. It appears as if the gratifications of a
literary life demand some serious compensation to destroy the
self-satisfaction to which its success gives rise. Thus Scott, partly
through his own care to secure for himself all that he might of
the inferior reward, and partly to preserve the reputation for
honourable dealing to which he was justly entitled, sustained in
later years a load of care which, but for a professional acquaint-

Vlll LIFE OP SIR WALTER SCOTT.

ance with the relations of business men, might have overwhelmed
instead of chastening hi3 spirit. But we anticipate.

In due time the hoy began to put on the man. He fell in love,
but prudently, as it happened, for the young lady afterwards
married another. He became a member of literary societies.
He was called to the bar in 1792. Every vacation he made
expeditions into the Highlands, and over the most part of
the southern counties of Scotland, and the north of England.
In these excursions he was indefatigable in the examination of
every object of antiquarian interest, and in storing up those
memories of ancient days which enabled him to rove at will and
with ease throughout the forgotten details of by-past times. In
Edinburgh the Parliament House rang with the merriment
which succeeded his anecdotes. So did many a supper party of
the companions whom he chose to admit to his particular friend-
ship. He studied German, which the author of " The Man of
Feeling " introduced to the Edinburgh literati as possessing a
rising literature. Goethe, Schiller, and Kant became the com-
panions of the kindred lads. Hitherto we read little of verse-
making amongst Scott's accomplishments. There was not any
necessity for such expression of his thoughts. They never wanted
a friend to whom they might pass in the fresh mood of kindly
intercourse. Verse was not in his case either the liberty of a
prisoned spirit, or the regulated pastime of a mind wearied with
excess of liberty. It became the channel of communication
between the poet and the wide world that lay beyond his personal
intercourse. Towards that extended audience young Scott began
to stretch his flight. A translation from Burger, a German poet now
little heard of, was read at some of the Edinburgh evening parties.
Some weeks afterwards, Scott heard of the impression the poem
created, sought out the original, and admiring it, resolved to
present his friends with a version of his own. This was the origin
of the piece entitled, " William and Helen." The weird character
of the German romance of that period, represented to the English
mind in the type of Lewis's " Monk," and subsequently by his tales
of wonder, powerfully impressed the readers of German litera-
ture. Scott reads one day his poem to a friend. At its conclu-
sion they suffer its unearthly spirit to engross a few minutes'
silence. " I wish to heaven," said the poet, " I could get a scull
and two cross-bones." His friend takes him immediately to a
surgeon. Scott carries home in a handkerchief the sensible
images of the dismal feelings of the hour. Mounted on the top
of his bookcase, they afterwards found a place amongst the relics
of Abbotsford. Some copies of the ballad of 'William and Helen
were printed for private distribution, and this was the poet's

LIFE OF SFR WALTER SCOTT. &

first appearance in type. Soon afterwards he completed an-
other translation from the same author, which he entitled the
"Chase." The two pieces were published together in October
1796. Amongst the circle of the poet's friends the little volume
was heartily welcomed. The public cared nothing about it.

At this time the country was agitated by the warlike move-
ments of the French republic. The aggressions in Italy had
roused the spirit of the British youth, who everywhere formed
themselves into corps of volunteers. Walter Scott keenly felt
his disqualification for infantry drill. But his patriotism was
not to be balked. He agitated the formation of a body of
cavalry volunteers. He was a fearless rider himself. In the
saddle the bold spirit of the Border moss-troopers, his own ances-
tors, came over him in a better cause. A regiment was formed,
of which he became the life and soul. He was appointed paymas-
ter, quartermaster, and secretary. He was actually a great deal
more. It was his to animate his comrades with the light spirit
of the trooper. In the intervals of the tiresome repetitions of
drill, Scott's eye and tongue fired up the flagging zeal which
monotony had well-nigh dispelled. His own regimental duties
contributed to bring to the budding poet's thoughts the living
realities of the military life on horseback. Thus it was that
fancy proceeded in him upon a solid basis of fact ; and in his
actual experience of peculiar situations, the ideal so far blended
with the real as to work in him the marvellous faculty of render-
ing their antagonisms indistinguishable to others. The apparent
engrossment of the young advocate's mind, with what were to his
fellows only mock military amusements, furnished at this time
many a joke at his expense to his less ardent companions. They
little knew what was going on in his brain. Scott must have felt
a powerful fascination in these cavalry movements. He con-
tinued so long as the public mind retained any interest at all in
volunteering, as active and as ardent as he was at first.

In the vacation of 1797 Scott met with the lady who became
his wife. She was the daughter of a French royalist, whose
widow had taken refuge in England. During an excursion in the
north of England, she attracted the attention of Scott and his
companions at Gilsland Spa.

The poet's fate was quickly decided by her manifold charms.
The young lady possessed some means, and he thought his own
professional exertions might make up a sufficiency for both to
live on. They were married at Carlisle on the 24th December
1797. They occupied a lodging in Edinburgh, for a short time,
until the house in Castle Street was ready.

In the ensuing summer a cottage was taken at Lasswade, a

X LIFE OF SIP. WALTER SCOTT,

delightful spot about six miles from Edinburgh, where the poet
sought to realize a rural paradise, and where many a happy hour
passed away. There he wrote the ballads for Monk Lewis's Tales
of Wonder.

In 1800 appeared the translation of Goethe's Tragedy of Goetz
von Berlichengen, which did not attract much notice. Scott,
also about this time, wrote a play called the " House of Aspen."
Neither have been acted. Then he was successively occupied with
"Glenfinlas," "The Eve of St. John," "The Grey Brother,"
and the " Fire King." He was also taken up during his vacation
rambles, which were intermitted only by the calls of professional
duty, in the collection of the materials for the minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border. His repeated visits to that neighbourhood
renewed his acquaintance with a former school-fellow, James
Ballantyne, then conducting a newspaper at Kelso. Scott gave
his press some trifling occupation, and the style of his friend's
work originated the connection between them, which eventually
brought on the reverses that oppressed his maturer years.

In December 1799 the poet received, through the interest of
the Duke of Buccleuch, the appointment of Sheriff of Selkirk-
shire, an office of £300 a-year, with duties of the lightest. About
this time it was that he became acquainted with some of the
friends whose literary acquirements were of material service to
him, and whose value is recorded in so many delightful allusions
in his poems. Heber, Leyden, Ellis, and Miss Seward became
his literary correspondents. The Ettrick Shepherd also appears
roughly in the circle. In the beginning of 1802 appeared two
volumes of the minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and through
this work the poet became generally known to English readers.
A third volume afterwards appeared ; and the " Lay of the Last
Minstrel " began to take hazy form amidst the shadows of his
rising fame. His friends received the rehearsal of its opening
cantos somewhat coldly. But the poet discovered that they could
not forget the lines he read to them. He went on.

The publication of the " Minstrelsy " made Scott a reviewer.
Jeffrey, the editor of the " Edinburgh," was a brother advocate.
Scott did not long remain amongst his staff. Opposing politics
by-and-by drove these men asunder, and Scott afterwards was one
of the projectors of the " Quarterly."

In 1801 took place the publication of Scott's edition of "Sir
Tristrem," by Thomas of Ercildoun. He found it necessary at
that time to comply with the law, which requires the residence
of the sheriff during four months of the year within his jurisdic-
tion. He, therefore, took a lease of the farm of Ashestiel, in
Ettrick Forest, and relinquished his cottage at Lasswade.

LIFE OF SIR W ALTER SCOTT. XI

After long and anxious waiting on the part of his friends, the
" Lay " made its appearance in January 1S05. Its popularity
was not long doubtful. It received at once the highest commen-
dations. It continued to rise in public favour. Edition after
edition was called for, to meet the continued demand. The
author's biographer declares that "in the history of British
poetry nothing had ever equalled the demand fur the ' Lay of the
Last Minstrel.'"

The Minstrelsy had been appropriately printed at Kelso. On
the representations of Scott, Ballantyne had removed to Edin-
burgh. " The Lay" was printed in the latter place. But business
requires capital, and Scott's friendship had stood the printer
already in such good stead, that he must also find capital to
carry on the increased operations he created. Ballantyne showed
this to the poet, who conceived the idea of becoming his partner.
He did so. 'Twas pity. Oh, had he been content to help his
friend still further, without caring to help himself ! But Scott
was enterprising. He had a poet's prescience. He was a " man
of business," yet he was a poet. Imagination must have carried
him off his feet. He must needs also afterwards set up his prin-
ter's brother as a publisher. 'Twas well done. The strong
should help the weak, and Scott was rising on eagle's wings.
But he should not have been partner. He had not yet put forth
half his strength. " The Lay " is timid here and there. It
almost falters now and then, not in the weakness of the minstrel,
but in his doubt of the mind of his audience. What shall this
man be when he puts forth all his strength ? This, however, was
scarce to be, until the Philistines should be upon him. All went
well for some time. At length the publisher smote the printer;
and the printer smote the poet. What though the blow resounded
louder all the sweetness of the lyre ] The buffet struck home to
the soul of gentleness, and the wound was grievous.

Scott's profession was hanging in the wind along with his harp.
But the one shrank whilst the other vibrated. Fees dwindled
whilst profits rose. The prospect of increasing the latter drove
this powerful man into projects,— editions of the poets, and
what not. Yet his partnerships were secret. His attendance at
the Scottish Westminster was constant. Still it was plain he
was not to rise at the bar. In 1806 he made an arrangement
with Mr. Home, one of the clerks of the Court of Session, for the
reversion of his office, on condition of discharging its duties gra-
tuitously during the life of the holder. He was associated with
Mr. Home in the appointment on these terms, and did not receive
any emolument from it until some years afterwards. He was thus
withdrawn from the bar, and ceased to be a pretender to public

■Kll LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

favour as a professional man. Every moment spared from his
office was given to literature and literary friendship. It is a
wonder to the minnows how this triton, like most other great
men, found time for all his labours ; for Scott was a keen
sportsman. Coursing was his favourite amusement. It drew
forth his attachment to his horses and his dogs, and gave himself
the hearty and exhilarating exercise he dearly loved. 'Tis some-
thing to a book-worm, jaded with his toil in the close atmosphere
of paper catacombs, to feel the free air of native hills and dales
distending his cramped lungs. And he who, on his own pinions,
raises into ethereal regions the solid work-a-day world, may be
allowed to feel enjoyment on the back of a noble, if inferior ani-
mal, springing forwards on buoyant sinews in the chase that gives
the beast at least the keenest pleasure. Walter Scott, at any
rate, thought so. His horses and his dogs knew how he enjoyed
the sport, and these dumb friends loved him and sunned them-
selves in his keen eyes as if they, too, saw the work he did. At
this time Miss Seward looked on his face at Lichfield. She thus
describes him : " On Friday last the poetically great Walter
Scott came 'like a sunbeam to my dwelling.' This proudest
boast of the Caledonian muse is tall, and rather robust than
slender, but lame. Neither the contour of his face, nor yet his
features are elegant; his complexion healthy, and somewhat fair,
without bloom. We find the singularity of brown hair and eye-
lashes with flaxen eyebrows ; and a countenance open, ingenuous,
and benevolent. When seriously conversing or earnestly atten-
tive, though his eyes are rather of a lightish grey, deep thought
is on their lids; he contracts his brow, and the rays of genius
gleam aslant from the orbs beneath them. An upper lip too long
prevents his mouth from being decidedly handsome, but the
sweetest emanations of temper and heart play about it when he
talks cheerfully or smiles — and in company he is much oftener
gay than contemplative — his conversation an overflowing foun-
tain of brilliant wit, apposite allusion, and playful archness, — ■
while on serious things it is nervous and eloquent ; the accent is
decidedly Scotch, but by no means broad."

Next came " Marmion," published in February 1808; "a dumpy
quarto," the author calls it. Had any one but he applied the
epithet even to the shadow of the material volume, the man
should be consigned to Dante for everlasting punishment. But
even the affectation of Scott is catching. So much does the man
endear himself.

Along with his works of imagination, Scott was carrying on hia
studies by the studious criticism involved in editing Dryden and
Swift. These, doubtless, contributed to preserve the power and

LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Xlll

balance of his judgment. In May 1810, " The Lady of the
Lake " came out, with a portrait of the author.

It is needless to exhibit the criticisms of the period upon thoso
works. They were received with delight by all readers. A time
may come when language shall have put on another dress; and of
the diction of these poems may then be thought what we think of
Chaucer's. Other generations may arise "who shall not be able to
enjoy the externalism of these poems. Neither their purpose nor
their moral is of the highest scope. But, while objects are in-
cluded within the domain of poetry as of themselves worthy of
its charms, the word-painting of these exquisite pictures will re-
main to delight the world. Scott did not aspire to teach. It
was his province to please.
Next year appeared the "Vision of Don Roderick."
In 1812 the poet entered upon the income of his office in the
Court of Session, and thus enjoyed until near the close of his life
a professional income of £1600 a-year. This did not relax his
literary labours, and in the same year " Rokeby " was written.
His letters begin to date fiom Abbotsford, of which he says to
Lord Byron, " I am labouring here to contradict an old proverb,
and make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, — namely, to convert a
bare haugh and brae, of about a hundred acres, into a comfortable
farm." This was the nucleus of what was afterwards developed
into a great mansion and a wide estate. Nearly simultaneously
with " Rokeby " appeared, anonymously, " The Bridal of
Triermain." Few were so dull as to mistake this for an imita-
tion of Scott by an inferior hand, as he seems to have desired
might be the public judgment. I?ven the Greek quotations in
the preface deceived none of the friends who knew that Scott
was ignorant of that language. In this freak, however, we dis-
cern that desire for a literary incognito that was afterwards grati-
fied by the mystery attending the authorship of " Waverley." Scott
had hitherto occupied the chief place in the field of contemporary
poetry. But he discerned in Byron a rising star who was to
carry the force of words into a deeper region of the soul than his
own poetry could stir, and whose powers were sufficient to com-
mand as wide a range of popularity as his own. He began seri-
ously to meditate prose. The discovery in an old cabinet of a
fragment commenced some years before, attracted his notice by
the force its words exerted upon himself, now become, in the
lapse of time, a comparative stranger to his own composition.
Before " Waverley " appeared, in July 1814, he had been offered
and had declined the laureateship, which he exerted himself suc-
cessfully to have bestowed on Southey. He wrote prose in earnest
when he began. The original fragment contained nearly the

XIV LIF2 OF SIR WALTER SCOTT,

whole of the first volume of " Waverley ;" tbe two last volumes
were written in three weeks. The secret of the authorship -was
confided only to two or three of the author's most intimate
literary friends. The veil of incognito was easily penetrated by
the discriminating few who stood next without his most confiding
regard. Toihe world at large " the author of Waverley " became
a myth of magnitude, not to speak of the transcendent merit of
" Waverley " as a work of art. There is an aroma belonging to
it that suits the public taste. Notwithstanding that our idols
are stripped generation after generation, and even day after day,
of their gilded cheeks and diamond eyes by poets, novelists, and
satirists, we yet remain, by virtue of humanity itself, their wor-
shippers. In vain does a Shakespeare cast the blazon of his
genius alike over gentle and simple, king and peasant, combining
them all in one common kith, where human nature makes of the
whole one united world. In vain a Smollett holds the mirror up
to the universal coarseness that underlies all our refinement of
the surface. In vain, too, a Hogarth and a Thackeray paint us
all, at bottom, snobs and common fellows, and show us, by their
Rakes and Crawleys, that Virtue alone is fair. We will have it
that there is a lofty class, within which reside all the majesty and
the peace that our ideals faintly realize. Your Sir Charles
Grandisons are the heroes of every successive generation. A de-
mocracy becomes an oligarchy by virtue of success, and the
struggling multitude accepts it. Principles of this sort are recog-
nised in the oldest and most popular volume. There it is an
aristocracy that perpetually leads the movements of the subja-
cent masses. After all the shifting scenery of the world-wide
drama is displayed, the curtain of revelation itself finally de-
scends on the triumph of the true, though tried aristocracy.

In order that men may be elevated, some of them must be
placed within a line of privilege towards which the rest are
drawn. The pale of the author of "Waverley" appears to be
taken from the most vulgar prejudice of his nation. It consists in
the possession of the soil, and includes the correlations of rank
depending on the family ramifications of the landed proprietors.
In a word, his philosophy is feudalism. His feudalism is indeed
gilded with all the powers of fancy and the consummate decora-
tions of art. It is genial withal, and whilst class remains within
class there is the utmost cordiality and good neighbourhood.
Unfortunately, in the world class will not remain within class ;
men will not be contented simply to do their duty within the
station in which God has placed them. They will aspire. The
interest, perhaps, of all Scott's works, depends more than we are
aware on the touch of nature everywhere applied, that amidst

LIFE OF SIR SALTER SCOTT. XV

these distinctions makes the whole world kin. We feel that,
notwithstanding the extent of factitious distance, we are really
near his characters. Lofty as they are, they are bone of our bone,
— sweet flattery which the author teaches us to apply to ourselves !
We claim kindred with his noblest heroes, and they admit us to
their table, although, perhaps, " below the salt." Red Murdoch
is the kinsman of his chief, and is pleased while he lives. But
his death by no means fulfils the omen : —

" Think ye because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderic Dhu f "

Scott himself naively confesses this with feelings which few per-
sons, except his countrymen, distinctly understand. "We are
not a little proud of being greeted as Laird and Lady of Abbots-
ford. We will give a grand gala when we take possession of it;
and as we are very clannish in this corner, all the Scotts in the
country, from the duke to the peasant, shall dance on the green
to the bagpipes, and drink whisky punch."

The difficulties of Scott's partnership had already begun. The
Ballantynes were short of money, and Scott is pestered with
shifts to raise the wind. Expresses are going to and fro between
Edinburgh and the country wherever he may happen to be, as
their bills become due, and the lack of funds becomes apparent.
Yet he buys Abbotsford with money borrowed from his friends,
and on the security of "Rokeby" still only in his brain. He
afterwards, notwithstanding continued financial difficulties,
makes further purchases by the mortgage of his future labours.
The " Lord of the Isles" begins to loom in sight immediately
after a six weeks' voyage made in the yacht of the lighthouse
commissioners in the summer of 1814, from Leith to the Clyde,
round the north of Scotland. This was the period when
" Waverley," just published, was engrossing the public mind.
"The Lord of the Isles" was published on the 18th January
1815, and next month " Guy Mannering " issued from the press.
The ensuing summer Scott visited the continent, a few weeks
after the battle of Waterloo. As he witnessed the scenes which
were then in all minds, he wrote the series entitled, " Paul's
Letters to his Kinsfolk." The poem of " The Field of Waterloo "
was also written in these circumstances. The element of romance
was wanting to the subject, to which the poet, therefore, fails to
do justice. Its details were too visible.

Space does not permit us to follow our author through all the
triumphs which succeded this, the manhood of his career. His
lucubrations in verse were now nearly fulfilled. The fame which
subsequently awaited him as a novelist has somewhat obscured

XVI LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

that which accompanied him in his progress as a poet. Having
dwelt so long on the history of the works contained in the present
volume, the remainder of his life must be less minutely followed.
It was even now agitated with the cares which belong peculiarly
to men of business. In addition to the burden which his own
creative efforts imposed, he had to supply prudential thought to
the two commercial houses in which he was interested, those of
his printer and of his publisher. As for the landed estate he
was rapidly gathering around the original nucleus of the hundred
acres, to which he gave the name of Abbotsford, its cares were his
delight; and all the operations of improving land, planting woods,
and gardening landscapes, came as relief to his buoyant spirit.
The pecuniary elements of all these rested on his hopes, which
were as unbounded as his labour was indefatigable. From the
court to the cottage Walter Scott was now known and appre-
ciated. The highest heads in Britain and in Europe stooped
courteously, in common with the poorest of the reading popula-
tion, in homage to his genius. His fame could scarcely rise
higher, or extend wider than it did.

In 1817 "Haroldthe Dauntless "was published. Of thishesays,
"I begin to get too old and stupid, I think, for poetry; and will
certainly never again adventure on a grand scale." He never did.

The rank of baronet was conferred on Scott by the Prince
Regent in 1820. His acceptance of the compliment was facilitated
by a provision made for his children by their mother's brother,
who had died a short time previously in India. His family con-
sisted of two sons and two daughters. The eldest, Charlotte
Sophia, was married in the same year to Mr. Lockhart, after-
wards his biographer. Walter, Anna, and Charles, were the others.

The Waverley novels now teemed year after year from the
press. Abbotsford was rising by degrees into a magnificence
that threatened to be palatial. Land was still accumulating
around the original farm, and an outlay for its improvement con
amove was going on. The visitors — not always distinguished —
who flocked to Abbotsford comprised a large portion of the peer-
age, every commoner who could claim any eminence, and multi-
tudes whose only object was to approach Sir Walter's person.
All this activity was partaken of by those with whom as printer
and publisher Scott was connected. The run of good fortune
which had attended these his henchmen had been now long con-
tinued and unbroken. The commercial crisis of 1825 arrived.
The publishing house of Ballantyne had some years before dis-
covered its inability to resist the speculative atmosphere in which
our author lived, and had withdrawn from the field. Archibald
Constable, surnamed the "Crafty," was at the head of the Biblio-

LIFE OF SIB WALTER SCOTT. XV11

polic League. But he too had been carried off his feet. His
credit exploded, and with the shock the printing-house of Ballan-
tyne fell. Scott writes in his Diary on the day of Ballantyne's
visit, announcing his intended stoppage : " I felt rather sneaking
as I came home from the Parliament House; felt as if I were
liable monstrari digite in no very pleasing way. But this must
be borne cum ceteris; and thank God, however uncomfortable, I
do not feel despondent." Yet the same entry contains words only
two lines before, of different import. Speaking of the death of
an old friend, he says : " I cannot choose, but wish it had been
Sir W. S." This death of independence was indeed far worse
than the pangs of physical dissolution to a being like Sir Walter
Scott. He had not borne the yoke in his youth ; but now in his
fifty-fifth year, honoured above all contemporaries with the
homage of the spirit, and having sensibilities so delicately acute,
as to have secured this eminence by their display, he must now
— digite monstrari — be pointed at with the finger as a bankrupt !

The first effect of the disclosure of his partnership with Ballan-
tyne, and consequent ruin of his estate, was to draw out the
universal sympathy of his friends. Many a touching exhibition
of kindly feeling in those days brought tears of reciprocated affec-
tion to his eyes. But it was not to weeping the idealist now
addressed himself. It was to work. His creditors unanimously
agreed to his proposal to place his effects in trust for their benefit.
" This," says he, " is handsome and confidential, and must warm
my efforts to get them out of the scrape. I will not doubt, —to
doubt is to lose." And thus the noble spirit struggled on until
the fight should be won. But that was not to be until after the
hero's death had consummated the self-sacrifice.

At the time when his misfortunes came "in battalions,", Scott
was inditing the letters of Malachi Malagrowther — a name aptly
indicating the stiffness of their subject. That is, whilst the banks
of Scotland were setting their dogs at him, Sir Walter was fight-
ing their battles. He won again. The banks escaped govern-
ment interference for twenty years through his public spirit.
Then his " Life of Napoleon " engrossed his fagging hours. The
lighter ones were given to fancy. "Woodstock," and "St.
Bonan's Well," were his consolations.

His misfortunes revealed not only the real solidity of Scott's
greatness of character and fame, but it also tore up the last
shreds of the mystery that had hitherto hung around "the author
of Waverley." His friends had long known the truth, and deli-
cacy alone prevented familiarities with himself on the subject.
Mr. Adolphus, by the publication of a volume of letters proving
the identity of the " Great Unknown " with the author of " Mar-

XY1U LIFE OF SIB "WALTER SCOTT.

inion," Lad exhibited the truth in the world of letters. The ex-
posure of the affairs of Constable and Ballantyne rendered any
further mystery impossible, and Scott at a public dinner iu
Edinburgh, where he presided, consented to the verdict long since
given by the public. In replying to Lord Meadowbank, who
had proposed his health in terms alluding to the revelation of the
mystery, Scott pleaded guilty before the judge, and made a full
confession.

. Immediately afterwards, another shock is sustained by the
sufferer in the death of his wife. He bears it manfully. But
his humour is all gone. " This is no his ainsel'." Time and
travel, however, gradually restore him. Work, work, work, is
still his consolation. In two years he distributes £40,000
amongst his creditors. The time once occupied by the entertain-
ment of the visitors who flocked to see him, is now spent in
labour and retirement. His family is scattered, all but his
daughter Anna. His dogs alone remain the same. The unob-
trusive and affectionate company of these humble friends was dear
to him to the last.

But as his years and labours increased, the health of Scott gave
way. In February 1830, he had an attack of paralysis, and in
November another. His friends noticed with apprehension
symptoms of decaying vigour. On the declaration in the end of
the year of a second dividend to his creditors, which reduced his
encumbrances by one half, his personal property at Abbotsford
was presented to him by them. He considered thi3 worth
£10,000 to his family, but to himself the gratification was in-
creased by innumerable associations, as well as the sense of plea-
sure arising from the proof that his honourable exertions were
highly appreciated by those for whom they were made. He had
already retired from his office as Clerk of Session, upon an allow-
ance of £800 a year, which the government offered to supplement
by a pension to the amount of the salary he relinquished. But
independence was valued more than income, and the proposition
was declined. Slight shocks of paralysis were recurring, and his
friends could not avoid the disclosure, that not only the hand
which held, but the mind that flowed through his pen, was fail-
ing. He is loath to believe it. Yet his diary admits the possi-
bility of such a thing. On the 27th April 1831, he writes :
"My bodily strength is terribly gone, perhaps my mental too."
He had for some time exchanged his horse for a pony. Now he
had to be lifted into the saddle. His aspect was altered, his
person shrunk, and all but the lustre of the eye spoke of impend-
ing dissolution. He resolved to spend the winter of 1831 at
Naples. The government intimated to him that a frigate should

LIFE 01' SIR WALTER SCOTT. XIX

be at his disposal for the voyage. On the 29th October the
Barham set sail with its illustrious freight.

Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue

Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,

Follow this wondrous potentate. Be true,

Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,

Wafting your charge to soft Parthenope !

Visiting Graham's Island, a volcanic curiosity, ■which disap-
peared soon after he had trodden its transitory dust, and Malta
by the way, he reached Naples, where he met his son Charles who
was attached to the embassy. Here his mind was agitated with
literary schemes, and his physical activities went the whole length
of his strength. He began to revert in thought to his first love,
poetry. But he only succeeded in reaching home to die. He was
still at Naples when he heard of the death of Goethe, on the 22d
March 1832. "Alas for Goethe ! " he exclaimed ; " hut he at least
died at home. Let us to Abbotsford."

On the 16th of April he left Naples, passed through Rome,
the Tyrol, Frankfort. At Nimeguen he had another attack of
paralysis, combined with apoplexy. He reached Loudon on the
16th June, almost in a state of insensibility. He was removed
to Scotland by steamer, and landed on the quay at Newhaven.
As his carriage approached the scenery of the vale of Tweed, he
began to gaze about. Catching at length from a distance a glimpse
of Abbotsford, he sprang up from his prostration with a cry of
delight. The presence of a friend had always lattly excited a
flash, but no more. The endearments of home awoke him to
something like continued sensibility. He was wheeled about a short
time for a few successive days in a Bath chair. He tried once to
write, but could not. The pen dropped, and tears followed. He
retired to the couch from which he hardly ever afterwards arose.

Several weeks passed thus, whilst his bodily strength was
gradually decaying. At length the intervals of returning sensi-
bility ceased, and on the 21st September he drew his last breath
in the presence of all his children. About a month before he
had completed his 61st year.

On Wednesday, the 26th September 1832, the remains of Sir
Walter Scott were laid in the tomb of his maternal ancestors, amid
the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey.

Measures were taken soon after to discharge the debts he had
made such exertions to wipe out, by means of his literary and
other property, and the house of Abbotsford was thus preserved
to his family, in whose possession it remains.

Edisbcbod, 1861.

THE LAY

OP

THE LAST MINSTREL.

& $oem.
IN six CANTOS.

'Dam relcgo, scripslsse pndet ; quia plurima eerno,
Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna lini."

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH,

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION, 1805.

The Poem, now offered to the Public, is Intended to illustrate the cus-
toms and manners which anciently prevailed on the Borders of England
and Scotland. The inhabitants,, living in a state partly pastoral and
partly warlike, and combining habits of constant depredation with the
influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were often engaged in scenes highly
susceptible of poetical ornament As the description of scenery and man-
ners was more the object of the Author, than a combined and regular
narrative, the plan of the ancient Metrical Romance was adopted, which
allows greater latitude, in this respect, than would be consistent with the
dignity of a regular Poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it-
permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree,
authorizes the change of rhythm in the text. The machinery, also,
adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile in a Poem which
did not partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Metrical Romance.

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an ancient
Minstrel, the last of the race, who, as he is supposed to have survived the
Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement of modern
poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original model. The date of
the Tale itself is about the middle of the sixteenth century, when most of
the personages actually flourished. The time occupied by the action is
Three Nights and Three Days.

NEWARK CASTLE.

Page 3.

INTRODUCTION.

The way was long, the wind was cold,

The minstrel was infirm and old ;

His withered cheek, and tresses grey,

Seemed to have known a better day;

The harp, his sole remaining joy,

Was carried by an orphan boy.

The last of all the bards was he,

Who sung of Border chivalry.

For, well-a-day ! their date was fled,

His tuneful brethren all were dead ;

And he, neglected and oppressed,

Wished to be with them, and at rest.

No more, on prancing palfrey bornt,

He carolled, light as lark at morn ;

No longer courted and caressed,

High placed in hall, a welcome guest,

He poured, to lord and lady gay,

The unpremeditated lay :

Old times were changed, old manners gone;

A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne;

The bigots of the iron time

Had called his harmless art a crime.

A wandering Harper, scorned and poor,

He begged his bread from door to door ;

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,

The harp, a king had loved to hear.

He passed where Newark's stately tower
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower :
The minstrel gazed with wishful eye —
No humbler resting-place was nigh.
With hesitating step, at last,
The embattled portal-arch he passed,
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar
Had oft rolled back the tide of war,
But never closed the iron door
Against the desolate and poor.
The Duchess* marked his weary pace,

* Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representative of the
ancient lords of Buccleuch, and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke jf
Mouuiouth, who was beheaded In 1685.

°t INTRODUCTION.

His timid mien, and reverend face,
And bade her page the menials tell,
That they should tend the old man well :
For she had known adversity,
Though born in such a high degree;
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb !

When kindness had his wants supplied,
And the old man was gratified,
Began to rise his minstrel pride :
And he began to talk anon,
Of good Earl Francis,'" dead and gone,
And of Earl Walter, f rest him, God !
A braver ne'er to battle rode;
And how full many a tale he knew,
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ;
And, would the noble Duchess deign
To listen to an old man's strain,
Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak,,
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak,
That, if she loved the harp to hear,
He could make music to her ear.

The humble boon was soon obtained ;
The Aged Minstrel audience gained.
But, when he reached the room of state,
Where she, with all her ladies, sate,
Perchance he wished his boon denied :
For, when to tune his harp he tried.
His trembling hand had lost the ease,
Which marks security to please;
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain —
He tried to tune his harp in vain.
The pitying Duchess praised its chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty earls;
He had played it to King Charles the Good,
When he kept court in Holyrood ;
And much he wished, yet feared to try
The long-forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers strayed,
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.

* Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father of the Duchess.
■j" Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather of the Duchess, and a cele-
brated warrior.

INTRODUCTION.

But when he caught the measure wild,
The old man raised his face, and smiled ;
And lightened up his faded eye,
With all a poet's ecstasy !
In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along :
The present scene, the future lot,
His toils, his wants, were all forgot :
Cold diffidence, and age's frost,
In the full tide of song were lost ;
Each blank, in faithless memory void,
The poet's glowing thought supplied ;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung.

THE

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FIRST.

The feast was over in Branksome tower,

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ;

Her bower that was guarded by word and by spell,

Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell —

Jesu Maria, shield us well !

No living wight, save the Ladye alone,

Had dared to cross the threshold stone.

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all ;

Knight, and page, and household squire,
Loitered through the lofty hall,

Or crowded round the ample fire :
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase,

Lay stretched upon the rushy door.
And urged, in dreams, the forest-race,

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall ;
Nine-and-twenty squires of name
Brought them their steeds to bower from stall ;
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall
Waited, duteous, on them all :
They were all knights of mettle true,
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.

rv.
Ten of them were sheathed in steel,
With belted sword, and spur on heel :
They quitted not their harness bright,
Neither by day, nor yet by night :

Cuntol.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 7

They lay down to rest,

With corslet laced,
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ;

They carved at the meal

With gloves of steel,
And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men,
Waited the beck of the warders ten;
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight,
Stood saddled in stable day and night,
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow,
And with Jedwood-axe at saddle bow;
A hundred more fed free in stall : —
Such was the custom of Brauksome Hall.

Why do these steeds stand ready dight 1
Why watch these warriors, armed, by night 1—
They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying;
They watch, to hear the war-horn braying;
To see St. George's red cross streaming,
To see the midnight beacon gleaming ;
They watch, against Southern force and guile,
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers,
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers,
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.

Such is the custom of Brauksome Hall. —

Many a valiant knight is here ;
But he, the chieftain of them all,
His sword hangs rusting on the wall,

Beside his broken spear.
Bards long shall tell,
How Loid Walter fell!
When startled burghers fled, afar,
The furies of the Border war ;
When the streets of high Dunedin
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden,
And heard the slogan's* deadly yell —
Then the Chief of Branksome fell.

Can piety the discord heal,

Or staunch the death-feud's enmity '.'
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal,

Can love of blessed charity 1
No ! vainly to each holy shrine,

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew;
Implored, in vain, the grace divine

For chiefs, their own red falchions slew :

• The war-cry, or gathering word, of a Border clan

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. \Canio L

While Cessford owns the rule of Car,

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott,
The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal jar,
The havoc of the feudal war,

Shall never, never be forgot ?

In sorrow, o'er Lord Walter's bier
The warlike foresters had bent ;
And many a flower, and many a tear,

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent :
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier
The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear !
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain,
Had locked the source of softer woe;
And burning pride, and high disdain,

Forbade the rising tear to flow ;
Until, amid his sorrowing clan,

Her son lisped from the nurse's knee —
" And if I live to be a man,
My father's death revenged shall be ! "
Then fast the mother's tears did seek
To dew the infant's kindling cheek.

All loose her negligent attire,

All loose her golden hair,
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire,

And wept in wild despair.
But not alone the bitter tear

Had filial grief supplied;
For hopeless love, and anxious fear,

Had lent their mingled tide :
Nor in her mother's altered eye
Dared she to look for sympathy.

Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan,
With Oar in arms had stood,

When Mathouse burn to Melrose ran,
All purple with their blood ;

And well she knew, her mother dread,

Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed,

Would see her on her dying bed.

Of noble race the Ladye came;
Her father was a clerk of fame,

Of Bethune's line of Picardie :
He learned the art, that none may name,

In Padua, far beyond the sea.
Men said he changed his mortal frame

By feat of magic mystery ;
For when, in studious mood, he paced

St. Andrew's cloistered hall,
His form no darkening shadow traced

Upon the sunny wall 1

Canto l] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

And of his skill, as bards avow,

He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow

The viewless forms of air.
And now she sits in secret bower,
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,
That moans the mossy turrets round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,
That chafes against the scaur's * red side ]
Is it the wind, that swings the oaks ]
Is it the echo from the rocks ]
What may it be, the heavy sound,
That moans old Branksome's turrets round ?

XIII.

At the sullen, moaning sound,

The ban-dogs bay and howl ;
And, from the turrets round,

Loud whoops the startled owl.
In the hall, both squire and knight

Swore that a storm was near,
And looked forth to view the night ;

But the night was still and clear !

From the sound of Teviot's tide,
Chafing with the mountain's side,
From the groan of the wind-swung oak,
From the sullen echo of the rock,
From the voice of the coming storm,

The Ladye knew it well !
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke,

And he called on the Spirit of the Fell.

River Spirit.
" Sleep'st thou, brother 1 "

Mountain Spirit.

— " Brother, nay —
On my hills the moon-beams play.
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen,
By every rill, in every glen,
Merry elves their morrice pacing,

To aerial minstrelsy,
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,
Trip it deft and merrily.
Up, and mark their nimble feet !
Up, and list their music sweet ! "

• Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth.

10 TUE LAY OF THE LAST MIA'STREL. [Canto I

XYI.
River Spirit.
" Tears of an imprisoned maiden

Mix -with my polluted stream ;
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden,

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam.
Tell me, thou, who viewest the stars,
When shall cease these feudal jars !
What shall be the maiden's fate ?
Who shall be the maiden's mate ] "

Mountain Spirit.
" Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll,
Iu utter darkness round the pole ;
The Northern Bear lowers black and grim ;
Orion's studded belt is dim :
Twinkling faint, and distant far,
Shimmers through mist each planet star •

111 may I read their high decree !
But no kind influence deign they shower
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower,

Till pride be quelled, and love be free."

The unearthly voices ceast,

And the heavy sound was still ;
It died on the river's breast,

It died on the side of the hill. —
But round Lord David's tower

The sound still floated near ;
For it rung in the Ladye's bower,

And it rang in the Ladye's ear.
She raised her stately head,

And her heart throbbed high with pride :
" Your mountains shall bend,
And your streams ascend,

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride ! "

The Ladye sought the lofty hall,

Where many a bold retainer lay,
And, with jocund din, among them all,

Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy

The truncheon ot a spear bestrode,
And round the hali, right merrily,

In mimic foray* rode.
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,

Share in his frolic gambols bore,

Foray, a predatory inroad.

Canto I.} THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 11

Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould,
Were stubborn as the steel they wore.

For the grey warriors prophesied,
How the brave boy, in future war,

Should tame the Unicorn's pride,
Exalt the Crescent and the Star.*

The Ladye forgot her purpose high,
One moment, and no more ;

One moment gazed with a mother's eye,
As she paused at the arched door :

Then from amid the armed train,

She called to her, William of Deloraine.

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he,

As e'er couched Border lance by knee :

Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss

Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross ;

By wily turns, by desperate bounds,

Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds ;

In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none,

But he would ride them, one by one ;

Alike to him was time or tide,

December's snow, or July's pride ;

Alike to him was tide, or time,

Moonless midnight, or matin prime :

Steady of heart and stout of hand,

A 8 ever drove prey from Cumberland ;

Five times outlawed had he been,

By England's king, and Scotland's queen.

" Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed ;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ;
And in Melrose's holy pile
Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle.

Greet the Father well from me;
Say that the fated hour is come,

And to-night he shall watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb ;
For this will be St Michael's night,
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright ;
And the Cross, of bloody red,
Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.

" What he gives thee, see thou keep ;
Stay not thou for food or sleep :

* Alluding to the armorial bearings of the Scotts and Carre.

12 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto L

Be it scroll, or be it book,
Into it, knight, thou must not look ;
If thou readest thou art lorn !
Better had'st thou ne'er been born."

" 0 swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed,

Which drinks of the Teviot clear ;
Ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say,

" Again will I be here :
And safer by none may thy errand be done,

Than, noble dame, by me ;
Letter nor line know I never a one,

Were't my neck- verse at Hairibee."*

Soon in his saddle sate he fast,
And soon the steep descent he past,
Soon crossed the sounding barbican, +
And soon the Teviot side he won.
Eastward the wooded path he rode,
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ;
He passed the PeelJ of Goldiland,
And crossed old Borthwick's roaring strand ;
Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound,
Where Druid shades still flitted round :
In Hawick twinkled many a light ;
Behind him soon they set in night ;
And soon he spurred his courser keen
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.

xxvi.

The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; —
" Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark."
" For Branksome, ho !" the knight rejoined,
And left the friendly tower behind.

He turned him now from Teviotside,
And, guided by the tinkling_rill,

Northward the dark ascent did ride,
And gained the moor at Horsliehill ;

Broad on the left before him lay,

For many a mile, the Roman way.§

XXVII.

A moment now he slacked his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed ;
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band,
And loosened in the sheath his brand.

* Hairibee, the place of executing the border marauders at Carlisle.
The neck-verse is the beginning of the 51st Psalm, Miserere mei, &c,
anciently read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy.

•f Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle.

J Peel, a Border tower.

§ An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire.

Canto £] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 13

On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint,
Where Bamhill hewed his bed of flint;
Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest,
Where falcons hang their giddy nest,
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye
For many a league his prey could spy ;
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne,
The terrors of the robber's horn ;
Cliffs, which, for many a later year,
The warbling Doric reed shall hear,
When some sad swain shall teach the grove.
Ambition is no cure for love !

Unchallenged, hence past Deloraine
To ancient Riddel's fair domain.

Where Aill, from mountains freed,
Down from the lakes did raving come ;
Each wave was crested with tawny foan;

Like the mane of a chestnut steed.
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad,
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road.

At the first plunge the horse sunk low,

And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow ;

Above the foaming tide, I ween,

Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ;

For he was barded* from counter to tail,

And the rider was armed complete in mail ;

Never heavier man and horse

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force.

The warrior's very plume. I say,

Was daggled by the dashing spray ;

Yet, through good heart, and our Ladye's grace,

At length he gained the landing-place.

Now Bowden Moor the march-man won,
And sternly shook his plumed head,

As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ;+
For on his soul the slaughter red

Of that unhallowed morn arose,

When first the Scott and Car were foes ;

When royal James beheld the fray,

Prize to the victor of the day ;

When Home and Douglas, in the van,

Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan,

Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear

Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear.

* Barded, or barbed,— applied to a horse accoutred with defensive
armour.
+ Halidon Hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought

14 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Cwito II

In bitter mood he spurred fast,

And soon the hated heath was passed ;

And far beneath, in lustre wan,

Old Melrose rose, and fair Tweed ran :

Like some tall rock, with lichens grey,

Seemed dimly huge, the dark Abbaye.

When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung,

Now midnight lauds* were in Melrose sung.

The sound, upon the fitful gale,

In solemn wise did rise and fail,

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone

Is wakened by the winds alone.

But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all :

He meetly stabled his steed in stall,

And sought the convent's lonely wall.

Heke paused the harp ; and with its swell
The Master's fire and courage fell :
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seemed to seek, in every eye,
If they approved his minstrelsy ;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former days,
And how old age, and wandering long,
Had done his hand and harp some wrong.

The Duchess, and her daughters fair,
And every gentle lady there,
Each after each, in due degree,
Gave praises to his melody ;
His hand was true, his voice was clear,
And much they longed the rest to hear.
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man,
After meet rest, again began.

CANTO SECOND.

i.

If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moon-light ;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey.
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruined central tower ;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ;

* Lauds, the midnight service of the Cntholic church.

Cunto II.] THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

When silver edges the imagery,

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;

When distant Tweed is heard to rave,

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,

Then go — but go alone the while —

Then view St. David's ruined pile ;

And, home returning, sootbly swear,

Was never scene so sad and fair !

Short halt did Deloraine make there ;

Little recked he of the scene so fair :

With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong,

He struck full loud, and struck full long.

The porter hurried to the gate —

" Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?"

" From Branksome I," the warrior cried ;

And strait the wicket opened wide :

For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood,

To fence the rights of fair Melrose ;
And lands and livings, many a rood,

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.

Bold Deloraine his errand said ; •

The porter bent his humble head ;
With torch in hand, and feet unshod,
And noiseless step, the path he trod :
The arched cloisters, far and wide,
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride ;
Till, stooping low his lofty crest,
He entered the cell of the ancient priest,
And lifted his barred aventajle,*
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ;

Says, that the fated hour is come,
And that to-night I shall watch with thee,

To win the treasure of the tomb."- —
From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,

With toil his stiffened limbs he reared ;
A hundred years had flung their snows

On his thin lucks and floating beard.

And strangely on the Knight looked he,
And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide ;

" And, dar'st thou, Warrior ! seek to see
What heaven and hell alike would hide •

My breast, in belt of iron pent,

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn ;

Avtntayle, visor of the helmet

16 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto II.

For threescore years, in penance spent,

My knees those fiinty stones have worn ;
Yet all too little to atone
For knowing what should ne'er be known.
Would'st thou thy every future year

In. ceaseless prayer and penance drie,
Yet wait thy latter end with fear —
Then, daring Warrior, follow me ! "

" Penance, father, will I none ;

Prayer know I hardly one ;

For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry,

Save to patter an Ave Mary,

When I ride on a Border foray :

Other prayer can I none ;

So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.

Again on the Knight looked the Churchman old,

And again he sighed heavily :
For he had himself been a warrior bold,

And fought in Spain and Italy.
And he thought on the days that were long since by,
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high :
Now, slow and faint, he led the way,

Where, cloistered round, the garden lay ;

The pillared arches were over their head,
And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.

Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright,
Glistened with the dew of night ;
Nor herb, nor floweret, glistened there,
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair.
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon,
. Then into the night he looked forth ;
And red and bright the streamers light

Were dancing in the glowing north.
So had he seen, in fair Castile,

The youth in glittering squadrons start ;
Sudden the flying jennet wheel,
And hurl the unexpected dart.
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright,
That spirits were riding the northern light.

By a steel-clenched postern door,
They entered now the chancel tall ;

The darkened roof rose high aloof
On pillars lofty and light and small :

The key-stone, that locked each ribbed aisle,

Was a neur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ;

CanloIJ) THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL. 17

The corbells * were carved grotesque and grim ;
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim,
With base and with capital flourished around.
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound.

x.

Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven,
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven,

Around the screened altar's pale ;
And there the dying lamps did burn,
Before thy low and lonely urn,
0 gallant Chief of Otterburne !

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !
0 fading honours of the dead !
0 high ambition, lowly laid !

The moon on the east oriel shone
Through slender shafts of shapely stone,

By foliated tracery combined ;
Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand
'Twist poplars straight the ozier wand,
In many a freakish knot, had twined ;
Then framed a spell, when the work was done,
And changed the willow- wreaths to stone.
The silver light, so pale and faint,
Showed many a prophet, and many a saint,
Whose image on the glass was dyed ;
Full in the midst, his Cross of Bed
Triumphant Michael brandished,

And trampled the Apostate's pride.
The moon-beam kissed the holy pane,
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.

XII.

They sate them down on a marble stone,

A Scottish monarch slept below ;
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone : —

" I was not always a man of woe ;
For Paynim countries I have trod,
And fought beneath the Cross of God :
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear.
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear.

" In these far climes, it was my lot
To meet the wonderous Michael Scott;

A wizard of such dreaded fame.
That when, in Salamanca's cave,
Him listed his magic wand to wave,
The bells would ring in Notre Dame !
Some of his skill he taught to me ;

* Corbells, the projections from which the arches Spring, usually cut in
a fantastic face, or niaik.

a

IS THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto II.

And, Warrior, I could say to thee

The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,

And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone :
But to speak them were a deadly sin ;
And for having but thought them my heart within,

A treble penance must be done.

" When Michael lay on his dying bed,

His conscience was awakened ;

He bethought him of his sinful deed,

And he gave me a sign to come with speed :

I was in Spain when the morning rose,

But I stood by his bed ere evening close.

The words may not again be said,

That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ;

They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave,

And pile it in heaps above his grave.

" I swore to bury his Mighty Book,

That never mortal might therein look;

And never to tell where it was hid,

Save at his Chief of Branksome's need:

And when that need was past and o'er,

Again the volume to restore.

I buried him on St. Michael's night,

When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright,

And I dug his chamber among the dead,

When the floor of the chancel was stained red,

That his patron's cross might over him wave,

And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave.

" It was a night of woe and dread,

When Michael in the tomb I laid !

Strange sounds along the chancel past,

The banners waved without a blast," —

— Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one !-

I tell you, that a braver man

Than William of Deloraine, good at need,

Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed;

Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread,

And his hair did bristle upon his head.

" Lo, Warrior ! now, the Cross of Red

Points to the grave of the mighty dead ;

Within it burns a wonderous light,

To chase the spirits that love the night :

That lamp shall burn unquenchably,

Until the eternal doom shall be."

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone

Which the bloody cross was traced upon:

CantO II] THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTKEL. 19

He pointed to a secret nook;

An iron bar the Warrior took;

And the Monk made a sign with his withered hand,

The grave's huge portal to expand.

XVIII.

With beating heart to the task he went ;

His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent;

With bar of iron heaved amain,

Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain.

It was by dint of passing strength,

That he moved the massy stone at length.

I would you had been there, to see

How the light broke forth so gloriously,

Streamed upward to the chancel roof,

And through the galleries far aloof !

No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright:

It shone like heaven's own blessed light,

And, issuing from the tomb,
Shewed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-browed Warrior's mail,

And kissed his waving plume.

XIX.

Before their eyes the Wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old ;

A palmer's amice wrapped him round,

With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea;

His left hand held his Book of Might;

A silver cross was in his right;
The lamp was placed beside bis knee:
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook,
And all unruffled was his face:
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.

XX.

Often had William of Deloraine

Eode through the battle's bloody plain,

And trampled down the warriors slain,

And neither known remorse or awe;
Yet now remorse and awe he owned;
His breath came thick, his head swam round,

When this strange scene of death be saw.
Bewildered and unnerved he stood,
And the priest prayed fervently and loud:
With eyes averted prayed he;
He might not endure the sight to see,
Of the man he had loved so brotherly.

XXI.

And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed,
Thus unto Deloraine he said : —

20 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. \Canto 11.

" Now, speed thee what thou hast to do,

Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue;

For those, thou may'st not look upon,

Are gathering fast round the yawning stone ! '' —

Then Deloraine, in terror, took

From the cold hand the Mighty Book,

With iron clasped, and with iron bound:

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned ;

But the glare of the sepulchral light,

Perchance, had dazzled the Warrior's sight.

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb,

The night returned, in double gloom;

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were

few;
And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew,
With wavering steps and dizzy brain,
They hardly might the postern gain.
'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed,
They heard strange noises on the blast ;
And through the cloister-galleries small,
Which at mid -height thread the chancel wall,
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran,
And voices unlike the voice of man;
As if the fiends kept holiday,
Because these spells were brought to-day.
I cannot tell how the truth may be ;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.

" Now, hie thee hence," the Father said,
" And when we are on death-bed laid,
0 may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John,
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! "-

The Monk returned him to his cell,
And many a prayer and penance sped ;

When the convent met at the noontide bell —
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead J
Before the cross was the body laid,
With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed.

The Knight breathed free in the morning wind,

And strove his hardihood to find;

He was glad when he passed the tombstones grey.

Which girdle round the fair Abbaye;

For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest,

Felt like a load upon his breast ;

And his joints, with nerves of iron twined,

Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind.

Full fain was he when the dawn of day

Began to brighten Cheviot grey;

He joyed to see the cheerful light,

And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might.

Canto I/.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL. 21

The suu had brightened Cheviot grey,

The sun had brightened the Carter's* side;
And soon beneath the rising day

Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tide.
The wild birds told their warbling tale,

And wakened every flower that blows;
And peeped forth the violet pale,

And spread her breast the mountain rose.
And lovelier than the rose so red,

Yet paler than the violet pale,
She early left her sleepless bed,

The fairest maid of Teviotdale.

Why does fair Margaret so early awake,

And don her kirtle so hastilie;
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make,

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie;
Why does she stop, and look often around.

As she glides down the secret stair;
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound,

As he rouses him up from his lair;
And, though she passes the postern alone,
Why is not the watchman's bugle blown '(

The Ladye steps in doubt and dread,

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread;

The Ladye caresses the rough blood-hound,

Lest his voice should waken the castle round;

The watchman's bugle is not blown,

For he was her foster-father's son;

And she glides through the greenwood at dawn of light,

To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight.

The Knight and Ladye fair are met,

And under the hawthorn's boughs are set.

A fairer pair were never seen

To meet beneath the hawthorn green.

He was stately, and young, and tall ;

Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall:

And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid,

Lent to her cheek a livelier red;

When the half-sigh her swelling breast

Against the silken ribband prest ;

When her blue eyes their secret told,

Though shaded by her locks of gold —

Where would you find the peerless fair,

With Margaret of Branksome might compare !

A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh.

22 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto II.

And now, fair dames, methinks I see

You listen to my minstrelsy;

Your waving locks ye backward throw,

And sidelong bend your necks of snow :

Ye ween to hear a melting tale,

Of two true lovers in a dale ;

And tow the Knight, with tender fire,
To paint his faithful passion strove ;

Swore, he might at her feet expire,
But never, never cease to love ;
And how she blushed, and how she sighed,
And, half consenting, half denied,
And said that she would die a maid ; —
Yet, might the bloody feud be stayed,
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he,
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be.

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain !
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ;

Its lightness would my age reprove :
My hairs are grey, my limbs are old,
My heart is dead, my veins are cold :

I may not, must not, sing of love.

Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld,
The Baron's Dwarf his courser held,

And held his crested helm and spear :
That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man,
If the tales were true, that of him ran
Through all the Border, far and near.
'Twas said, when the Baron a-hunting rode
Through Keedsdale's glens, but rarely trod,

He heard a voice cry, " Lost ! lost ! lost ! "

And, like tennis-ball by racket tossed.
A leap, of thirty feet and three,

Made from the gorse this elfin shape,

Distorted like some dwarfish ape,

And lighted at Lord Cranstoun 's knee.

Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed ;

'Tis said that five good miles he rade,
To rid him of his company;
But where he rode one mile, the dwarf ran four,
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door.

XXXII.

Use lessens marvel, it is said :

This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid ;

Little he ate, and less he spoke,

Nor mingled with the menial flock:

And oft apart his arms he tossed,

And often muttered, " Lost ! lost ! lost !"

Canto II.] THE LAT OP THE LA3T MINSTREL. 93

He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,

But well Lord Cranstoun served he:
And he of his service was full fain ;
For once he had been ta'en or slain,

An' it had not been his ministry.
All between Home and Hermitage,
Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page.

For the Baron went on pilgrimage,
And took with him this elvish Page,

To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes :
For there, beside Our Ladye's lake,
An offering he had sworn to make,

And he would pay his vows.
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band
Of the best that would ride at her command ;

The trysting place was Newark Lee.
Wat of Harden came thither amain,
And thither came John of Thirlestaine,
And thither came William of Deloraine ;

They were three hundred spears and three.
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream,
Their horses prance, their lances gleam.
They came to St Mary's lake ere day ;
But the chapel was void, and the Baron away.
They burned the chapel for very rage,
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin- Page.

And now, in Branksome's good green wood,

As under the aged oak he stood,

The Baron's courser pricks his ears,

As if a distant noise he hears.

The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high,

And signs to the lovers to part and fly;

No time was then to vow or sigh.

Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove,

Flew like the startled cushat-dove :*

The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ;

Vaulted the knight on his steed amain,

And, pondering deep that morning's scene,

Bode eastward through the hawthorns green.

While thus he poured the lengthened tale,
The Minstrel's voice began to fail :
Full slyly smiled the observant page,
And gave the withered hand of age
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine,
The blood of Yelez' scorched vine.
He raised the silver cup on high,
And, while the big drop filled his eye,

* Wood pigeon.

24 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto III

Prayed God to bless the Duchess long,
And all who cheered a son of song.
The attending maidens smiled to see,
How long, how deep, how zealously,
The precious juice the Minstrel quaffed ;
And he, emboldened by the draught,
Looked gaily back to them, and laughed.
The cordial nectar of the bowl
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul ;
A lighter, livelier prelude ran,
Ere thus his tale again besrau.

CANTO THIKD.

I.

And said I that my limbs were old ;
And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor, withered heart was dead,

And that I might not sing of love % —
Plow could I to the dearest theme,
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,

So foul, so false a recreant prove !
How could I name love's very name,
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame !

ii.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed ;

In war, he mounts the warrior's steed ;

In halls, in gay attire is seen ;

In hamlets, dances on the green.

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,

And men below, and saints above ;

For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

in.
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween,
While, pondering deep the tender scene,
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green.
But the Page shouted wild and shrill —

And scarce his helmet could he don,
When downward from the shady hill
A stately knight came pricking on.
That warrior's steed, so dapple-grey,
Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay ;

His armour red with many a stain :
He seemed in such a weary plight,
As if he had ridden the live-long night ;
For it wag William of Deloraine.

But no whit weary did he seem,
When, dancing in the sunny beam,

Canlo III.] THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 25

He marked the crane on the Baron's crest ;
For his ready spear was in his rest.

Few were the words, and stern and high,
That marked the foeinen's feudal hate

For question fierce, and proud reply,
Gave signal soon of dire debate.
Their very coursers seemed to know
That each was other's mortal foe,
And snorted fire, when wheeled around,
To give each knight his vantage-ground.

In rapid round the Baron bent ;

He sighed a sigh, and prayed a prayer ;
The prayer was to his patron saint,

The sigh was to his ladye fair.
Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor prayed,
Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid ;
But he stooped his head, and couched his spear,
And spurred his steed to full career.
The meeting of these champions proud
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud.

Stern was the dint the Borderer lent !

The stately Baron backwards bent ;

Bent backwards to his horse's tail,

And his plumes went scattering on the gale ;

The tough ash spear, so stout and true,

Into a thousand flinders flew.

But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail,

Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail ;

Through shield, and jack, and acton past,

Deep in his bosom broke at last. —

Still sate the warrior saddle-fast,

Till, stumbling in the mortal shock,

Down went the steed, the girthing broke,

Hurled on a heap lay man and horse.

The Baron onward passed his course ;

Nor knew — so giddy rolled his brain —

His foe lay stretched upon the plain.

But when he reined his courser round,
And saw his foeman on the ground

Lie senseless as the bloody clay,
He bade his Page to staunch the wound,

And there beside the warrior stay,
And tend him in his doubtful state,
And lead him to Branksome castle-gate :
His noble mind was inly moved
For the kinsman of the maid he loved.
" This shalt thou do without delay ;
No longer here myself may stay :

26 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto JIl

Unless the swifter I speed away,

Short shrift will be at my dying day." —

Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ;

The Goblin-Page behind abode ;

His lord's command he ne'er withstood,

Though small his pleasure to do good.

As the corslet off he took,

The Dwarf espied the Mighty Book !

Much he marvelled, a knight of pride

Like a book-bosomed priest should ride :

He thought not to search or staunch the wound,

Until the secret he had found.

The iron band, the iron clasp,
Resisted long the elfin grasp ;
For when the first he had undone,
It closed as he the next begun.
Those iron clasps, that iron band,
Would not yield to unchristened hand,
Till he smeared the cover o'er
With the Borderer's curdled gore ;
A moment then the volume spread,
And one short spell therein he read.
It had much of glamour* might,
Could make a ladye seem a knight ;
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall
Seem tapestry in lordly hall ;
A nut-shell seem a gilded barge,
A sheeling-f* seem a palace large,
And youth seem age, and age seem youth-
All was delusion, nought was truth.

He had not read another spell,

When on his cheek a buffet fell,

So fierce, it stretched him on the plain,

Beside the wounded Deloraine.

From the ground he rose dismayed,

And shook his huge and matted head ;

One word he muttered, and no more —

" Man of age, thou smitest sore !" — ■

No more the Elfin Page durst try

Into the wondrous Book to pry ;

The clasps, though smeared with Christian gore,

Shut faster than they were before.

He hid it underneath his cloak. —

Now, if you ask who gave the stroke,

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ;

It was not given by man alive.

: Magical delusion. t A shepherd's hut.

Canto III.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 27

Unwillingly himself be addressed,

To do his master's high behest :

He lifted up the living corse,

And laid it on the weary horse ;

He led him into Branksome hall,

Before the beards of the warders all ;

And each did after swear and say,

There only passed a wain of hay.

He took him to Lord David's tower,

Even to the Ladye's secret bower ;

And, but that stronger spells were spread,

And the door might not be opened.

He had laid him on her very bed.

Whate'er he did of gramarye,*

Was always done maliciously ;

He flung the warrior on the ground,

And the blood welled freshly from the wound.

As he repassed the outer court,

He spied the fair young child at sport :

He thought to train him to the wood ;

For, at a word, be it understood,

He was always for ill, and never for good.

Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay,

Led him forth to the woods to play ;

On the draw-bridge the warders stout

Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out.

He led the boy o'er bank and fell,

Until they came to a woodland brook ;
The running stream dissolved the spell,

And his own elvish shape he took.
Could he have had his pleasure vilde,
He had crippled the joints of the noble child ;
Or, with his fingers long and lean,
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen :
But his awful mother he had in dread,
And also his power was limited ;
So he but scowled on the startled child,
And darted through the forest wild ;
The woodland brook he bounding crossed,
And laughed, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !

Full sore amazed at the wondrous change,
And frightened as a child might be,

At the wild yell and visage strange,
And the dark words of gramarye,

Magic.

28 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto 111,

The child, amidst the forest bower,
Stood rooted like a lily flower ;

And when at length, with trembling pace,
He sought to find where Branksome lay.

He feared to see that grisly face

Glare from some thicket on his way.
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on,
And deeper in the wood is gone, —
For aye the more he sought his way,
The further still he went astray, —
Until he heard the mountains round
Ring to the baying of a hound.

And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark

Comes nigher still, and nigher :
Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound,
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground,

And his red eye shot fire.
Soon as the wildered child saw he, .
He flew at him right furiouslie.
I ween you would have seen with joy
The bearing of the gallant boy,
When, worthy of his noble sire,
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire 1
He faced the blood-hound manfully,
And held his little bat on high ;
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed,

But still in act to spring ;
When dashed an archer through the glade,
And when he saw the hound was stayed,

He drew his tough bow-string ;
But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy !
" Ho ! shoot not, Edward — 'Tis a boy ! " —

The speaker issued from the wood,
And checked his fellow's surly mood,

And quelled the ban-dog's ire :
He was an English yeoman good,

And born in Lancashire.
Well could he hit a fallow deer

Five hundred feet him fro ;
With hand more true, and eye more clear,

No archer bended bow.
His coal-black hair, shorn round and close.

Set off his sun-burned face :
Old England's sign, St. George's cross,

His barret-cap did grace ;
His bugle-horn hung by his side,

All in a wolf-skin baldric tied ;
And his short falchion, sharp and clear,
Had pierced the throat of many a deer.

Canto UI.] THE LAY OF THE LAST HIXSTKEL. 29

His kirtle, made of forest green,

Reached scantly to his knee ;
And, at his belt, of arrows keen

A furbished sheaf bore he ;
His buckler scarce in breadth a span,

No longer fence had he ;
He never counted him a man,

Would strike below the knee ;
His slackened bow was in his hand,
And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band.

He would not do the fair child harm,
But held him with his powerful arm,
That he might neither fight nor flee ;
For when the Red-Cross spied he,
The boy strove long and violently.
" Now, by St. George," the archer cries,
" Edward, methinks we have a prize !
This boy's fair face, and courage free,
Shows he is come of high degree."

" Yes ! I am come of high degree,

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ;
And, if thou dost not set me free,

False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue !
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed,
And William of Deloraine, good at need,
And every Scott, from Esk to Tweed ;
And, if thou dost not let me go,
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow,
I'll have thee hanged to feed the crow J " —

" Gramercy, for thy good-will, fair boy !
My mind was never set so high;
Rut if thou art chief of such a clan,
And art the son of such a man,
And ever comest to thy command,

Our wardens had need to keep good order
My bow of yew to a hazel wand,

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border
Meantime, be pleased to come with me,
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see;
I think our work is well begun,
When we have taken thy father's son." —

Although the child was led away,
Iu Branksome still he seemed to stay,
For so the Dwarf his part did play;
And, in the shape of that young boy,

30 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canlc III.

He wrought the castle much annoy.
The comrades of the young Buccleuch
He pinched, and beat, and overthrew;
Nay, some of them he well-nigh slew.
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire,
And, as Syni Hall stood by the fire,
He lighted the match of his bandelier,*
And woefully scorched the hackbutteer.i"
It may be hardly thought or said,
The mischief that the urchin made,
Till many of the castle guessed,
That the young Baron was possessed !

Well I ween, the charm he held
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled;
But she was deeply busied then
To tend the wounded Deloraine.

Much she wondered to find him lie,
On the stone threshold stretched along;

She thought some spirit of the sky

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong;
Because, despite her precept dread,
Perchance he in the Book had read;
But the broken lance in his bosom stood,
And it was earthly steel and wood.

She drew the splinter from the wound,

And with a charm she staunched the blood :

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound :
No longer by his couch she stood ;

But she has ta'en the broken lance,
And washed it from the clotted gore,
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.

William of Deloraine, in trance,
Whene'er she turned it round and round,
Twisted as if she galled his wound.
Then to her maidens she did say,
That he should be whole man and sound,
Within the course of a night and day.

Full long she toiled ; for she did rue

Mishap to friend so stout and true.

XXIV.

So passed the day— the evening fell,
'Twas near the time of curfew bell ;
The air was mild, the wind was calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm;
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower,
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour.

* Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition.
■f Hackbuttcer, musketeer.

Canto III.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MIKSTIIEL. SI

Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed
The hour of silence and of rest.
On the high turret sitting lone,
She waked at times the lute's soft tone ;
Touched a wild note, and all between
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green.
Her golden hair streamed free from band,
Her fair cheek rested on her hand,
Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.

XXV.

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen,

That rises slowly to her ken,

And, spreading broad its wavering light,

Shakes its loose tresses on the night !

Is yon red glare the western star 1 —

Oh, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war !

Scarce could she draw her tightened breath,

For well she knew the fire of death !

The Warder viewed it blazing strong,
And blew his war-note loud and long,
Till, at the high and haughty sound,
Kock, wood, and river, rung around.
The blast alarmed the festal hall,
And startled forth the warriors all;
Far downward, in the castle-yard,
Full many a torch and cresset glared ;
And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed,
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost;
And spears in wild disorder shook,
Like reeds beside a frozen brook.

The Seneschal, whose silver hair
Was reddened by the torches' glare,
Stood in the midst, with gesture pruud,
And issued forth his mandates loud. —
" On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire,
And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire;

Ride out, ride out,

The foe to scout !
Mount, mount for JBranksome,t every man !
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan,

That ever are true and stout. —
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ;
For when they see the blazing bale,
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. —
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life !
And warn the warden of the strife.

* Hale, beacon-faggot.

■f Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the Scots.

S2 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTKEL. {Canto III

Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze,

Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise. ' —

Fair Margaret, from the turret head,
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread,

While loud the harness rung,
As to their seats, with clamour dread.

The ready horsemen sprung ;
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats,
And leaders' voices, mingled notes,
And out ! and out !
In hasty route,

The horsemen galloped forth ;
Dispersing to the south to scout,

And east, and west, and north,
To view their coming enemies,
And warn their vassals and allies,

The ready page, with hurried hand,
Awaked the need-fire's* slumbering brand,
And ruddy blushed the heaven :
For a sheet of flame, from the turret high,
Waved like a blood-flag on the sky,

All flaring and uneven;
And soon a score of fires, I ween,
From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen;
Each with warlike tidings fraught;
Each from each the signal caught;
Each after each they glanced to sight,
As stars arise upon the night.
They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,"j-
Haunted by the lonely earn; J
On many a cairn's § grey pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ;
Till high Dunediu the blazes saw,
From Soltra and Dumpender Law;
And Lothian heard the Regent's order,
That all should bowne || them for the Border.

XXX.

The livelong night in Branksome rang

The ceaseless sound of steel;
The castle-bell, with backward clang,

Sent forth the larum peal;
Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
Where massy stone and iron bar
Were piled on echoing keep and tower,
To whelm the foe with deadly shower;

* Nv.d-fire, beacon. -j* Tarn, a mountain lake,

£ Earn, a Scottish eagle. § Cairn, a pile of stonca.

Bowne, make ready.

Canto IV.] Till; LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 33

Was frequent heard the changing guard,
And watch-word from the sleepless ward;
While, wearied by the endless din.
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within.

XXXI.

The noble Dame, amid the broil,
Shared the grey Seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheered the young knights, and council sage
Held with the chiefs of riper age.
No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor of his numbers knew they aught,
Nor in what time the truce he sought.

Some said that there were thousands ten;
And others weened that it was nought
But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black-mail;*
And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back ageu.
So passed the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

Ceased the high sound— the listening throng

Applaud the Master of the Song;

And marvel much, in helpless age,

So hard should be his pilgrimage.

Had he no friend — no daughter dear,

His wandering toil to share and cheer;

No son, to be his father's stay,

And guide him on the rugged way ?

" Ay, once he had — but he was dead ! " —

Upon the harp he stooped his head,

And busied himself the strings withal,

To hide the tear, that fain would fall.

In solemn mea?ure, soft and slow,

Arose a father s notes of woe.

CANTO FOURTH.

Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willowed shore :
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hiil,
All, all is peaceful, all is still,

As if thy waves, since Time was born,
Siuce first they rolled upon the Tweed,
Had only heard the shepherd's reed,
Nor started at the bugle-horn.

Protection-money exacted bv free

34 TilL' LAY OF THE LAST MLNSTKEU f Canto IV.

Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow,
Retains each grief, retains each crime,

Its' earliest course was doomed to know ;
And, darker as it downward bears,
Is stained with past and present tears.

Low as that tide has ebbed with me,
It still reflects to Memory's eye
The hour, my brave, my only boy,

Fell by the side of great Dundee.
"Why, when the volleying musket played
Against the bloody Highland blade,
Why was not I beside him laid ! — ■
Enough — he died the death of fame ;
Enough — he died with conquering Graeme.

Now over Border dale and fell,

Full wide and far was terror spread ;
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell,

The peasant left his lowly shed.
The frightened flocks and herds were pent
Beneath the peel's rude battlement ;
And maids and matrons dropped the tear,
While ready warriors seized the spear.
From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy,
Which, curling in the rising sun,
Showed southern ravage was begun.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried —
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood !
Watt Tinlinn, from the Lid-del-side,

Comes wading through the flood.
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock
At his lone gate, and prove the lock ;
It was but last St. Barnabright
They sieged him a whole summer night,
But fled at morning ; well they knew,
In vain he never twanged the yew.
Right sharp has been the evening shower,
That drove him from his Liddel tower ;
And, by my faith," the gate-ward said,
" I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raid."*

v.

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman
Entered the echoing barbican.
He led a small and shaggy nag,

An inroad commanded by the Warden in person.

Conto IV.] THE LAY OF T1IE LAST MINSTREL

That through a bog, from hag to hag,*

Could bound like any Billhope stag.

It bore his wife and children twain ;

A half-clothed serf t was all their train :

His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed,

Of silver broach and bracelet proud,

Laughed to her friends among the crowd.

He was of stature passing tall,

But sparely formed, and lean withal ;

A battered morion on his brow;

A leather jack, as fence enow,

On his broad shoulders loosely hung;

A border axe behind was slung ;

His spear, six Scottish ells in length,
Seemed newly dyed with gore ;

His shafts and bow, of wonderous strength,
His hardy partner bore.

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show

The tidings of the English foe : —

" Belted Will Howard is marching here,

And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear,

And all the German hackbut-men,:}:

Who have long lain at Askerten :

They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour,

And burned my little lonely tower;

The fiend receive their souls therefor !

It had not been burned this year and more.

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright,

Served to guide me on my flight ;

But I was chased the live-long night.

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Graeme,

Fast upon my traces came,

Until I turned at Priesthaugh Scrogg,

And shot their horses in the bog,

Slew Fergus with my lance outright—

I had him long at high despite :

He drove my cows last Eastern's night." —

Now weary scouts from Liddesdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale ;
As far as they could judge by ken,

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand
Three thousand armed Englishmen —
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band,
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade,
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid.

There was saddling and mounting in haste,
There was pricking o'er moor and lea ;

* The broken ground in a bog.

* Bondsman.
X Musketeers.

3G THE LAT OP THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto 17.

He that was last at tire trysting-place,
Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.

From, fair St. Mary's silver wave,

From dreary Gramescleuch's dusky height,
His ready lances Thirlestane brave

Arrayed beneath a banner bright.
The tressured fieur-de-luce he claims
To wreathe his shield, since royal James,
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave,
The proud distinction grateful gave,

For faith 'mid feudal jars ;
What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none

Would march to southern wars ;
And hence, in fair remembrance worn,
Ton sheaf of spears his crest has borne ;
Hence his high motto shines revealed—
" Keady, aye ready," for the field.

An aged knight, to danger steeled,

With many a moss-trooper, came on ;
And azure in a golden field,
The stars and crescent graced his shield,

Without the bend of Murdieston.
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower,
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower ;
High over Borthwick's mountain flood,
His wood-embosomed mansion stood ;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plundered England low ;
His bold retainers' daily food,
And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief ! his sole delight
The moonlight raid, the morning fight ;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms,
In youth, might tame his rage for arms ;
And still, in age, he spurned at rest,
And still his brows the helmet pressed,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow :

Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,

Came trooping down the Todshawhill;
By the sword they won their land,

"And bythe sword they hold it still.
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale,
How thy sires won fair Eskdale.—

Canto ir.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 37

Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair,

The Beattisons were his vassals there.

The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood,

The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude;

High of heart, and haughty of word,

Little they recked of a tame liege lord.

The Earl to fair Eskdale came,

Homage and seignory to claim :

Of Gilbert the Galliard, a heriot * he sought,

Saying, " Give thy hest steed, as a vassal ought."

— " Dear to me is my bonny white steed,

Oft has he helped me at pinch of need ;

Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow,

I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." —

Word on word gave fuel to fire,

Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire,

But that the Earl the flight had ta'en,

The vassals there their lord had slain.

Sore he plied both whip and spur,

As he urged his steed through Eskdale in\rir ;

And it fell down a weary weight,

Just on the threshold of Branksome gate.

The Earl was a wrathful man to see,

Full fain avenged would he be.

In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke,

Saying — " Take these traitors to thy yoke;

For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold,

All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold :

Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan

If thou lea vest on Eske a landed man;

But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone,

For he lent me his horse to escape upon."—

A glad man then was Branksome bold,

Down he flung him the purse of gold ;

To Eskdale soon he spurred amain,

And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.

He left his merrymen in the mist of the hill,

And bade them hold them close and still;

And alone he wended to the plain,

To meet with the Galliard and all his train.

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : —

" Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head

Deal not with me as with Morton tame,

For Scotts play best at the roughest game.

Give me in peace my heriot duo,

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue.

If my horn I three times wind,

Eskdale shall Ion" have the sound in mind."-

* The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to Hie best horse of
the vassal, in name of heriot, or hcrezdd.

38 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto IV.

Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ;

" Little care we for thy winded horn.

Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot,

To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.

Wend thou to Branksome back on foot,

With rusty spur and miry boot. " —

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse,

•That the dun deer started at fair Craikcross ;

He blew again so loud and clear,

Through the grey mountain mist there did lances

appear ;
And the third blast rang with such a din,
That the echoes answered from Pentoun Linn ;
And all his riders came lightly in.
Then had you seen a gallant shock,
When saddles were emptied, and lances broke !
For each scornful word the Gralliard had said,
A Beattison on the field was laid.
His own good sword the chieftain drew,
And he bore the Qalliard through and through ;
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with the rill,
The Galliard's Haugh men call it still.
The Scotts have scattered the Beattison clan,
la Eskdale they left but one landed man.
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source,
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse.

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name ;'
From Yarrow Cleugh to Hindaugh Svvair,

From Woodhouselie to Chester Glen,
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear ;

Their gathering word was Bellenden.
And better hearts o'er Border sod
To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose :

She badeher youthful son attend,

That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his foes.

" The boy is ripe to look on war ;
I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,

And his true arrow struck afar
The raven's nest upon the cliff;
The Red Cross, on a southern breast,
]s broader than the raven's nest :
Thou, Whitslade, shall teach him his wea.pi n to wield,
And o'er him hold his father's shield." —

XIV.

Well may you think, the wily Page
Cared not to face the Ladye sage.

Canto IV.] THE LAY OP THE LAST MLH8TREL. 39

He counterfeited childish fear,

And shrieked, and shed full many a tear.

And moaned and plained in manner wild.
The attendants to the Ladye told,

Some fairy, sure, had changed the child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble dame;
She blushed blood-red for very shame : —
" Hence ! ere the clan his faintness view;
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! —
Wat Tinliun, thou shalt be his guide
To Kangleburn's lonely side. —
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line,
That coward should e'er be sou of miue ! " —

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,

To guide the counterfeited lad.

Soon as the palfrey felt the weight

Of that ill-omened elvish freight,

He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,

Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tiidinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile ;

But as a shallow brook they crossed,
The elf, amid the running stream,
His figure changed, like form in dream,
And fled, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !

Full fast the urchin ran and laughed,

But faster still a cloth-yard shaft

Whistled from startled Tiulinn's yew,

And pierced his shoulder through and through.

Although the imp might not be slain,

And though the wound soon healed again,

Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain ;

.And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast,

Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood,
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood ;
And martial murmurs, from below,
Proclaimed the approaching southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were Border pipes and bugles blown;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
And measured tread of marching men ;
While broke at times the solemn hum,
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum;

And banners tall, of crimson sheen,
Above the copse appear ;

And, glistening through the hawthorns green,
Shine helm, and shield, and spear.

40 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto IV.

Light forayers, first, to view the ground,
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round ;

Behind, in close array, and fast,
The Kendal archers, all in green,

Obedient to the bugle blast,
Advancing from the wood were seen.
To back and guard the archer band,
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand :
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, aud crosses red,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall,
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall;
And minstrels, as they marched in order,
Played, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the
Border."

Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries, firm and slow,

Moved on to fight, in dark array,
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,
Who brought the band from distant Rhine,

And sold their blood for foreign pay.
The camp their home, their law the sword,
They knew no country, owned no lord :
They were not armed like England's sons,
But bore the levin-darting guns ;
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er,
And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore ;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade ;
All, as they marched, in rur^ed tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.

But louder still the clamour grew,

A nd louder still the minstrels blew,

When, from beneath the greenwood tree,

Bode forth Lord Howard's chivalry ;

His me"n-at-arms, with glaive and spear,

Brought up the battle's glittering rear.

There many a youthful knight, full keen

To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ;

With favour in his crest, or glove,

Memorial of his ladye-love.

So rode they forth in fair array,

Till full their lengthened lines display ,

Then called a halt, and made a stand,

And cried " St. George, for merry England ! "

Powder-flasks.

Canto IV.] THE LAY OF TIIE LAST MINSTREL, 41

Now every English eye, iutent,
On Branksome's armed towers was bent ;
So near they were, that they might know
The straining harsh of each cross-bow ;
On battlement and bartizan
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizau ;
Falcon and culver,* on each tower,
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ;
And flashing armour frequent broke
From eddying whirls of sable smoke,
Where, upon tower and turret head,
The seething pitch and molten lead
Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red.
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall,
The wicket opes, and from the wall
Hides forth the hoary Seneschal.

Armed he roda, all save the head,

His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread ';

Unbroke by age, erect his seat,

He ruled his eager courser's gait ;

Forced him, with chastened fire, to prance,

And, high curvetting, slow advance :

In sign of truce, his better hand

Displayed a peeled willow wand ;

His squire, attending in the rear,

Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.

When they espied him riding out,

Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout

Sped to the front of their array,

To hear what this old knight should sr.v.

" Ye English warden lords, of ycu
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch,
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border ti
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand,
And all yon mercenary band,
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ?
My Ladye reads you swith return :
And, if but one poor straw you burn,
Or do our towers so much molest,
As scare one swallow from her nest,
St. Mary ! but we'll light a brand
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord,
But calmer Howard took the word :-

* Ancient pieces of B

i2 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Cardo IV.

" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal,
To seek the castle's outward wall,
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show
Both why we came, and when we go."
The message sped, the noble Dame
To the wall's outward circle came ;
Each chief around leaned on his spear,
To see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery dressed,
The lion argent decked his breast ;
He led a boy of blooming hue—
0 sight to meet a mother's view !
It was the heir of great Buccleuch.
Obeisance meet the herald made,
And thus his master's will he saiJ.

" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords,
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords j
But yet they may not tamely see,
All through the western wardenry,
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-side ;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemens-firth.*
"We claim from thee William of Deloraine,
That he may sufier march-treason pain.+
It was but last St. Cuthbert's even
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried J the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive.
Then, since a lone and widowed Dame
These restless riders may not tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their warrison,§
And storm and spoil thy garrison :
And this fair boy, to London led,
Shall good King Edward's page be bred."

XXV.

He ceased— and loud the boy did cry,
And stretched his little arms on high ;
Implored for aid each well-known face,
And strove to seek the Dame's embrace.
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer,
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear :
She gazed upon the leaders round,
A nd dark and sad each warrior frowned ;
Then, deep within her sobbing breast
She locked the struggling sigh to rest ;

* An asylum for outlaws t Border treason,

t Plundered. § Note of assault.

Canto IV.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 43

Unaltered and collected stood,

And thus replied, in dauntless mood : —

" Say to your Lords of high emprize,
Who war on women and on boys,
That either "William of Deloraine
Will cleanse him, by oath, of march- treason stein.
Or else he will the combat take
'Gainst Musgrave, for his honour's sake.
No knight in Cumberland so good,
But William may count with him kin and blood.
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,
When English blood swelled Ancrain ford ;
And but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight,
And bare him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubbed a knight.
For the young heir of Branksome's line,
God be his aid, and God be mine ; _
Through me no friend shall meet his doom ;
Here, while I live, no foe finds room.
Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge,

Take our defiance loud and high ;
Our slogan is their lyke-wake* dirge,

Our moat, the grave where they shall lie."—

Proud she looked round, applause to claim —
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye of flame,

His bugle Watt of Harden blew ;
Pensils and pennons wide were flung,
To heaven the Border sLgan rung,

" St. Mary for the young Buccleuch ! "
The English war-cry answered wide,

And forward bent each southern spear ;
Each Kendal archer made a stride,

And drew the bow-string to his ear ;
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown ; —
But, ere a grey-goose shaft had flown,

A horseman galloped from the rear.

XXVIII.

" Ah ! noble Lords !" he, breathless, said,
" What treason has your march betrayed ?
What make you here, from aid so far,
Before you walls, around you war ?
Your foemen triumph in the thought,
That in the toils the lion's caught.
Already on dark Ruberslaw
The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw;f
The lances, waving in his train,
Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain ;

* Luke-icake, the watching a corpse previous to interment,
t Wtaponsehaw, the military array of a county.

44 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTKEL. [Canto IV

And on the Liddel's northern strand,
To bar retreat to Cumberland,
Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good,
Beneath the eagle and the rood ;
And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale,

Have to proud Angus come;
And all the Merse and Lauderdale
Hare risen with haughty Home.
An exile from Northumberland,

In Liddlesdale I've wandered long ;
But still my heart was with merry England,
And cannot brook my country's wrong ;
And hard I've spurred all night, to show
The mustering of the coming foe." —

" And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ;
" For soon yon crest, my father's pride,
That swept the shores of Judah's sea,
And waved in gales of Galilee,
From Branksome's highest towers displayed,
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid ! —
Level each harquebuss on row ;
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow;
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry,
Dacre for England, win or die ! " —

" Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hear,

Nor deem my words the words of fear :

For who, in field or foray slack,

Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back 1

But thus to risque our Border flower

In strife against a kingdom's power,

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three,

Certes, were desperate policy.

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made,

Ere conscious of the advancing aid :

Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine

In single fight, and if he gain,

He gains for us ; but if he's crossed,

'Tis but a single warrior lost :

The rest, retreating as they came,

Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." —

111 could the haughty Dacre brook
His brother-warden's sage rebuke :
And yet his forward step he staid,
And slow and sullenly obeyed.
But ne'er again the Border side
Did these two lords in friendship ride;
And this slight discontent, men say,
Cost blood upon another day.

Canto IV.] THE LAY OF THE IiAST HIKSTItBL. 45

The pursuivant-at-anns again

Before the castle took his stand ;
His trumpet called, with parleying strain,

The leaders of the Scottish hand ;
And he defied, in Musgrave's right,
Stout Deloraine to single fight :
A gauntlet at their feet he laid,
And thus the terms of fight he said : —
" If in the lists good Musgrave's sword

Vanquish the knight of Deloraine,
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord,

Shall hostage for his clan remain :
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave,
The boy his liberty shall hare.

Howe'er it falls, the English hand,
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed,
In peaceful march, like men unarmed,

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland."

XXXIII.

Unconscious of the near relief,

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief,

Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed ;
For though their hearts were brave and true,
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew,

How tardy was the regent's aid :
And you may guess the noble Dame

Durst not the secret prescience own,
Sprung from the art she might not name,

By which the coming help was known.
Closed was the compart, and agreed,
That lists should be enclosed with speed,

Beneath the castle, on a lawn :
They fixed the morrow for the strife,
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife,

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ;
When Deloraine, from sickness freed,
Or else a champion in his ptead,
Should for himself and chieftain stand,
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand.

xxxiv.
I know right well, that, in their lay,
Full many minstrels siDg and say,

Such combat should be made on horse,
On foaming steed, in full career,
With brand to aid, when as the spear

Should shiver in the course:
But he, the jovial Harper, taught
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought,

•In guise which now I say;
He knew each ordinance and clause
Of black Lord Archibald's battle -laws,

In the old Douglas' day.

46 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. iCanCo IV,

He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong,

Or call his song untrue :
For this, when they the goblet plied,
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride,

The bard of Reull he slew.
On Teviot's side, in fight they stood,
And tuneful hands were stained with blood ;
Where still the thorn's white branches wave,
Memorial o'er his rival's grave.

Why should I tell the rigid doom,
That dragged my master to his tomb ;

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair,
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim,
And wrung their hands for love of him,

Who died at Jedwood Air?
He died ! — his scholars, one by one,
To the cold silent grave are gone;
And I, alas ! survive alone,
To muse o'er rivalries of yore,
And grieve that I shall hear no more
The strains, with envy heard before;
For, with my minstrel brethren fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.

He paused : the listening dames again
Applaud the hoary minstrel's strain.
With many a word of kindly cheer, —
In pity half, and half sincere, —
Marvelled the Duchess how so well
His legendary song could tell —
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ;
Of feuds, whose memory was not;
Of forests, now laid waste and bare;
Of towers, which harbour now the hare;
Of manners, long since changed and gone;
Of chiefs, who under their grey stone
So long had slept, that fickle Fame
Had blotted from her rolls their name,
And twined round some new minion's head
The fading wreath for which they bled ;
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse
Could call them from their marble hearse.

The Harper smiled, well-pleased ; for ne'er
Was flattery lost on poet's ear :
A simple race ! they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile;
E'en when in age their flame expires,
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires :
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise,
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze.

Canto r.J THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 47

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man,
And thus his tale continued ran.

CANTO FIFTH.

Call it not vain : — they do not eir.

Who say, that, when the Poet dies,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,

And celebrates his obsequies ;
Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone,
For the departed Bard make moan ;
That mountains weep in crystal rill ;
That flowers in tears of balm distil ;
Througli his loved groves that breezes sigh,
And oaks, in deeper groan, reply;
And rivers teach their rushing wave
To murmur dirges round his grave.

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn
Those things inanimate can mourn ;
But that the stream, the wood, the gale,
Is vocal with the plaintive wail
Of those, who, else forgotten long,
Lived in the poet's faithful song,
And, with the poet's parting breath,
Whose memory feels a second death.
The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot,
That love, true love, should be forgot,
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear
Upon the gentle minstrel's bier :
The phantom knight, his glory fled,
Mourns o'er the field he heaped with dead
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain,
And shrieks along the battle-plain :
The chief, whose antique crownlet long
Still sparkled in the feudal song,
Now, from the mountain's misty throne,
Sees, in the thanedom once his own,
His ashes undistinguished lie,
His place, his power, his memory die :
His groans the lonely caverns fill,
His tears of rage impel the rill;
All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung,
Their name unknown, their praise unsuug.

Scarcely the hot assault was staid.
The terms of truce were scarcely made,
When they could spy, from Branksome's towers,
The advancing march of martial powers.

48 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto V.

Thick clouds of dust afar appeared,

And trampling steeds were faintly heard;

Bright spears, above the columns dun,

Glanced momentary to the sun ;

And feudal banners fair displayed

The bands that moved to Branksome's aid.

IV.

Yails not to tell each hardy clan,

From the fair Middle Marches came;
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van,

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name !
Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn,
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburn.

Their men in battle-order set;
And Swinton laid the lance in rest,
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest

Of Clarence's Plantagenet.
Nor list I say what hundreds more,
From the rich Merse and Lammermore,
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war,
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar,

And Hepburn's mingled banners come,
Down the steep mountain glittering far,

And shouting still, " A Home ! a Home ! "

Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent,

On many a courteous message went;

To every chief and lord they paid

Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid;

And told them, — bow a truce was made,

And how a day of fight was ta'en

'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine;
And how the Ladye prayed them dear,

That all would stay the fight to see,

And deign, in love and courtesy,
To taste of Branksome cheer.
Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot,
Were England's noble Lords forgot;
Himself, the hoary Seneschal,
Bode forth, in seemly terms to call
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall.
Accepted Howard, than whom knight
Was never dubbed, more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More famed for stately courtesy :
But angry Dacre rather chose
In his pavilion to repose.

VI.

Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask,
How these two hostile armies met 1

Deeming it were no easy task
To keep the truce which here was set;

Canto V.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 49

Where martial spirits, all on fire,
Breathed only blood and mortal ire. —
15y mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation, foes,

They met on Teviot's strand ; —
They met and sate them mingled down,
Without a threat, without a frown,

As brothers meet in foreign land :
The hands, the spear that lately grasped,
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped,

Were interchanged in greeting dear;
Visors were raised, and faces shown,
And many a friend, to friend made known,

Partook of social cheer.
Some drove the jolly bowl about;

With dice and draughts some chased the day;
And some, with many a merry shout,
In riot, revelry, and rout,

Pursued the foot-ball play.

Yet, be it known, had bugles blown,

Or sign of war been seen,
Those bands, so fair together ranged,
Those hands, so frankly interchanged,

Had dyed with gore the green :
The merry shout by Teviotside
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide,

And in the groan of death ;
And whingers,* now in friendship bare,
The social meal to part and share,

Had found a bloody sheath.
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change
Was not infrequent, nor held strange,

In the old Border-day :
But yet on Branksome's towers and town,
In peaceful merriment, sunk down

The sun's declining ray.

The blithesome signs of wassel gay
Decayed not with the dying day;
Soon through the latticed windows tall
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,
Divided square by shafts of stone,
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone;
Nor less the gilded rafters rang
With merry harp and beakers' clang :

And frequent, on the darkening plain,
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran,

As bands, their stragglers to regain,
Give the shrill watch- word of their clan;

A sort of knife, or poinavd.

4

50 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto V

And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim
Douglas or Dacre's conquering name.

Less frequent heard, and fainter still,

At length the various clamours died :
And you might hear, from Branksome hill,

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide;
Save, when the changing sentinel
The challenge of his watch could tell ;
And save, where, through the dark profound,
The clanging axe and hammer's sound

Rung from the nether lawn;
For many a busy hand toiled there,
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square,
The lists dread barriers to prepare

Against the morrow's dawn.

Margaret from hall did soon retreat,

Despite the dame's reproving eye;
N or marked she, as she left her seat,

Full many a stifled sigh;
For many a noble warrior strove
To win the Flower of Teviot's love,

And many a bold ally. —
With throbbing head and anxious heart,
All in her lonely bower apart,

In broken sleep she lay :
By times, from silken couch she rose;
While yet the bannered hosts repose,

She viewed the dawning day :
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest,
First woke the loveliest and the best.

She gazed upon the inner court,

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay;
Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and sncrt,

Had rung the live-long yesterday;
Now still as death; till, stalking slow,—

The jingling spurs announced his tread, —
A stately warrior passed below;

But when he raised his plumed head-
Blessed Mary ! can it be 1 —
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers,

With fearless step and free.
She dared not sign, she dared not speak —
Oh ! if one page's slumbers break,

His blood the price must pay !
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears.
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears,

Shall buy his life a day.

Canto V.] THE LAY OF THE LAST JILSSTREL. 61

Yet was his hazard sma]l; for well
You may bethink you of the spell

Of that sly urchin page;
This to his lord he did impart,
And made him seem, by glamour art,

A knight from Hermitage.
Unchallenged thus, the warder's post,
The court, unchallenged, thus he crossed,

For all the vassalage :
But, 0 ! what magic's quaint disguise
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes t

She started from her seat ;
While with surprise and fear she strove,
And both could scarcely master love —

Lord Henry's at her feet.

Oft have I mused, what purpose bad
That foul malicious urchin had

To bring this meeting round ;
For happy love's a heavenly sight,
And by a vile malignant sprite

In such no joy is found ;
And oft I've deemed, perchance he thought
Their erring passion might have wrought

Sorrow, and sin, and shame ;
And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight,
And to the gentle Ladye bright,

Disgrace, and loss of fame.
But earthly spirit could not tell
The heart of them that loved so well.
True love's the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven.

It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;

It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die ;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind. —
Now leave we Margaret and her Knight,
To tell you of the approaching fight.

Their warning blast the bugles blew,

The pipe's shrill port* aroused each clan ;

In haste, the deadly strife to view,
The trooping warriors eager ran :

Thick round the lists their lances stood,

Like blasted pines in Ettricke wood ;

* A martial piece of music adapted to the bagpipes.

52 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto V.

To Branksome many a look they threw,
The combatants' approach to view,
And bandied many a word of boast,
About the knight each favoured most.

Meantime full anxious was the Dame ;
For now arose disputed claim,
Of who should fight for Deloraine,
'Twist Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine :
They 'gan to reckon kin and rent,
And frowning brow on brow was bent ;

Eut yet not long the strife — for, lo !
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine,
Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain,
In armour sheathed from top to toe,
Appeared, and craved the combat due.
The Dame her charm successful knew,*
And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew.

When for the lists they sought the plain,
The stately Ladye's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold ;
Unarmed by her side he walked,
And much, in courteous phrase, they talked

Of feats of arms of old.
Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,

With satin slashed and lined ;
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,
His cloak was all of Poland fur,

His hose with silver twined ;
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,
Hung in a broad and studded belt ;
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still
Called noble Howard, Belted Will.

Behind Lord Howard and the Dame,
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came,

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground ;
White was her wimple, and her veil,
And her loose locks a chaplet pale

Of whitest roses bound ;
The lordly Angus, by her side,
In courtesy to cheer her tried ;
Without his aid, her hand in vain
Had strove to guide her broidered rein.
He deemed, she shuddered at the sight
Of warriors met for mortal fight ;
But cause of terror, all unguessed,
Was fluttering in her gentle breast,

* See p. 30, stanza xxiii.

OaatO rl TIIE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 53

When, in their cliairs of crimson placed,
The Dame and she the barriers graced.

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch,
An English knight led forth to view ;
Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
So much he longed to see the fight.
Within the lists, in knightly pride,
High Home and haughty Dacre ride :
Their leading staffs of steel they wield,
As marshals of the mortal field ;
While to each knight their care assigned
Like vantage of the sun and wind.
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,
In king and queen, and warden's name,

That none, while lasts the strife,
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, ■
Aid to a champion to afford,

On peril of his life ;
And not a breath the silence broke,
Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke : —

English Herald.
Here standeth Richard of Musgrave,

Good knight and true, and freely born,
Amends from Deloraine to crave,

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn.
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine

Is traitor false by Border laws ;
This with his sword he will maintain,

So help him God, and his good cause !

Scottish Herald.
Here standeth William of Deloraine,
Good knight and true, of noble strain,
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain,
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat ;
And that, so help him God above,
He will on Musgrave's body prove,
He lies most foully in his throat.

Lord Dacre.
Forward, brave champions, to the fight I
Sound trumpets !

Lord Home.
" God defend the right!"

Then Teviot ! how thine echoes rang,
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang

Let loose the martial foes,
And in mid list, with shield poised high,
And measured step and wary eye,

The combatants did close.

54 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto V.

Ill would it suit your gentle ear,

Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How to the axe the helms did sound,

And blood poured down from many a wound ;

For desperate was the strife and long,

And either warrior fierce and strong.

But, were each dame a listening knight,

I well could tell how warrior's fight ;

For I have seen war's lightning flashing,

Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing,

Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing,

And scorned, amid the reeling strife,

To yield a step for death or life. —

'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow
Has stretched him on the bloody plain ;

He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no !
Thence never shalt thou rise again !

He chokes in blood — some friendly hand

Undo the visor's barred band,

Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,

And give him room for life to gasp ! —

Oh, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar,

Haste, ere the sinner shall expire !

Of all his guilt let him be shriven.

And smooth his path from earth to heaven !

XXIII.

In haste the holy Friar sped ; —
His naked foot was dyed with red,

As through the lists he ran ;
Unmindful of the shouts on high,
That hailed the conqueror's victory,

He raised the dying man ;
Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer ;
And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye;
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faltering penitence to hear ;

Still props him from the bloody sod,
Still, even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

And bids him trust in God !
Unheard he prays ; — the death-pang's o'er !
Pilchard of Musgrave breathes no more.

XXIV.

As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,
The silent victor stands ;

Canto '/.] TIIE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL. 55

His beaver did he not unclasp,

Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp

Of gratulating hands.
\Then lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, -
Mingled with seeming terror, rise

Among the Scottish bands ;
And all, amid the thronged array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-uaked ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran :
He crossed the barriers at a bound,

And wild and haggard looked around,
As dizzy, and in pain ;

And all, upon the armed ground,
Knew William of Deloraine !
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed ;
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ;

" And who art thou," they cried,
" Who hast this battle fought and won }"
His plumed helm was soun undone —

" Cranstoun of Teviot-side !
For this fair prize I've fought and won," —
And to the Ladye led her son.

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed,
And often pressed him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbbed at every blow ;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet,
Though low he kneeled at her feet.
Me lists not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said —

— For Howard was a generous foe —
And how the clan united prayed,

The Ladye would the feud forego,
And deign to bless the nuptial hour
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.

She looked to river, looked to hill,

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy,
Then broke her silence stern and still, —

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me ;
Their influence kindly stars may shower
On Teviot's tide and Branks»me's tower,

For pride is quelled, and love is free."
She took fair Margaret by the hand.
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand;

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she : —
" As i am true to thee and thiue,
Do thou be true to me and mine !

This clasp of love our bond shall be ;

56 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto V.

For this is your betrothing day,
And all these noble lords shall stay,
To grace it with their company." —

All as they left the listed plait),

Much of the story she did gain ;

How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine,

And of his Page, and of the Book

Which from the wounded knight he took ;

And how he sought her castle high,

That morn, by help of gramarye ;

How, in Sir William's armour dight,

Stolen by his Page, while slept the knight,

He took on him the single fight.

But half his tale he left unsaid,

And lingered till he joined the maid. —

Cared not the Ladye to betray

Her mystic arts in view of day ;

But well she thought, ere midnight came,

Of that strange Page the pride to tame,

From his foul hands the Book to save,

And send it back to Michael's grave. —

Needs not to tell each tender word

'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord

Nor how she told of former woes,

And how her bosom fell and rose,

While he and Musgrave bandied blows. —

Needs not these lovers' joys to tell ;

One day, fair maids, you'll know them well

William of Deloraine, some chance
Had wakened from his deathlike trance ;

And taught that, in the listed plain,
Another, in his arms and shield,
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield.

Under the name of Deloraine.
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran,
And hence his presence scared the clan,
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,*
And not a man of blood and breath.
Not much this new ally he loved,
Yet, when he saw what hap had proved,

He greeted him right heartilie :
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous hate,
Though rude, and scant of courtesy ;
In raids he spilt but seldom blood,
Unless when men at arms withstood,
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud.
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow,
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe :

* The spectral apparition of a living person

Canto F.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. ffj

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now,

When on dead Musgrave he looked down ;
Grief darkened on his rugged hrow,
Though half disguised with a frown ;
And thus, while sorrow bent his head,
His foenian's epitaph he made.

" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here !

I ween, my deadly enemy ;
For, if I slew thy brother dear,

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me ;
And when I lay in dungeon dark,

Of Naworth Castle, long months three,
Till ransomed for a thousand mark,
Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee.
And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried,

And thou wert now alive, as I,
No mortal man should us divide,

Till one, or both of us, did die :
Yet rest thee God ! for well I know
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe.
In all the northern counties here,
Whose word is, Snaffle, spur, and spear,*
Thou wert the best to follow gear.
'Twas pleasure, as we looked behind,
To see how thou the chase couldst wind,
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way,
And with the bugle rouse the fray !
I'd give the lands of Deloraine,
B*ark Musgrave were alive again.'' —

So mourned he, till Lord Dacre's band
Were bowning back to Cumberland.
They raised brave Musgrave from the field,
And laid him on his bloody shield ;
On levelled lances, four and four,
By turns, the noble burden bore.
Before, at times, upon the gale,
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ;
Behind, four priests, in sable stole,
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul :
Around, the horsemen slowly rode ;
With trailing pikes the spearmen trod ;
And thus the gallant knight they bore.
Through Liddesdale, to Leven's shore ;
Thence to Home Coltrame's lofty nave,
And laid him in his father's grave.

The lands, that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear,
Have for their blazon had, the snaffle, spur, and spear,
Pol]/- Albion, Song xiii.

58 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, [Canto VI

The harp's wild notes, though hushed the song,

The mimic march of death prolong ;

Now seems it far, and now a-near,

Now meets, and now eludes the ear ;

Now seems some mountain side to sweep,

Now faintly dies in valley deep ;

Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail,

Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ;

Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave,

Hung the full choir in choral stave.

After due pause, they bade him tell,
Why he, who touched the harp so well,
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil,
Wander a poor and thankless soil,
When the more generous Southern Land
Would well requite his skilful hand.

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er
His only friend, his harp, was dear,
Liked not to hear it ranked so high
Above his flowing poesy;
Less liked he still, that scornful jeer
Misprized the land, he loved so dear ;
High was the sound, as thus again
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain.

CANTO SIXTH.

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand !
If such there be, go, mark him well ;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

II.

0 Caledonia ! stern and wild,

Meet nurse for a poetic child !

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,

Land of the mountain and the flood,

Canto VI.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 59

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand

Can e'er untie the filial band,

That knits me to thy rugged strand !

Still, as I view each well-known scene,

Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ;

And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,

Though none should guide my feeble way ;

Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break,

Although it chill my withered cheek ;

Still lay my head by Teviot stone,

Though there, forgotten and alone,

The Bard may draw his parting groan.

Not scorned like me ! to Branksome Hall
The Minstrels came, at festive call ;
Trooping they came, from near and far,
The jovial priests of mirth and war ;
Alike for feast and fight prepared,
Battle and banquet both they shared.
Of late, before each martial clan,
They blew their death-note in the van,
But now, for every merry mate,
Rose the portcullis' iron grate ;
They sound the pipe, they strike the string,
They dance, they revel, and they sing,
Till the rude turrets shake and ring.

Me lists not at this tide declare

The splendour of the spousal rite,
How mustered in the chapel fair

Both maid and matron, squire and knight ;
Me lists not tell of owches rare,
Of mantles green, and braided hair,
And kirtles furred with miniver ;
What pkmage waved the altar round,
How spurs, and ringing chainlets, sound :
And hard it were for bard to speak
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ;
That lovely hue which comes and flies,
As awe and shame alternate rise.

Some bards have sung, the Ladye high
Chapel or altar came not nigh ;
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace,
So much she feared each holy place.
False slanders these : — I trust right well
She wrought not by forbidden spell :

60 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto VI.

For mighty words and signs have power
O'er sprites in planetary hour :
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part,
Who tamper with such dangerous art.

.But this for faithful truth I say,
The Ladye by the altar stood,

Of sable velvet her array,
And on her head a crimson hood,
With pearls embroidered and entwined,
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ;
A merlin sat upon her wrist,
Held by a leash of silken twist.

The spousal rites were ended soon :

'Twas now the merry hour of noon,

And in the lofty arched hall

Was spread the gorgeous festival.

Steward and squire, with heedful haste,

Marshalled the rank of every guest ;

Pages, with ready blade, were there,

The mighty meal to carve and share :

O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane,

And princely peacock's gilded train,

And o'er the boar-head, garnished brave,

And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ;

O'er ptarmigan and venison,

The priest had spoke his benison.

Then rose the riot and the din,

Above, beneath, without, within !

For, from the lofty balcony,

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery,

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffed,

Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed;

Whispered young knights, in tone more mild,

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled.

The hooded hawks, high perched on beam,

The clamour joined with whistling scream,

And flapped their wings, and shook their bells

In concert with the stag-hounds' yells.

Round go the flasks of ruddy wine,

From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ;

Their tasks the busy sewers ply,

And all is mirth and revelry.

The Goblin Page, omitting still

No opportunity of ill,

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high,

To rouse debate and jealousy ;

Till Conrad, lord of Wolfenstein,

By nature fierce, and warm with wine,

And now in humour highly crossed,

About some steeds his band had lost,

High words to words succeeding still,

Canto VI.] THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 61

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout HunthiU ;

A hot and hardy Rutherford,

"Whom men call Dickon Draw-the-sword.

He took it on the Page's save,

HunthiU had driven these steeds away.

Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose,

The kindling discord to compose :

Stern Rutherford right little said,

But bit his glove, and shook his head. —

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood,

Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched in blood,

His bosom gored with many a wound,

Was by a Woodman's lyme-dog found ;

Unknown the manner of his death,

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ;

But ever from that time, 'twas said,

That Dickon wore a Cologne blade.

The Dwarf, who feared his master's eye
Might his foul treachery espie,
Now sought the castle buttery,
Where many a yeoman, bold and free,
Revelled as merrily and well
As those that sat in lordly selle.
Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ;
And he, as by his breeding bound.
To Howard's merry-men sent it round.
To quit them, on the English side,
Red Roland Forster loudly cried,
" A deep carouse to yon fair bride !"
At every pledge, from vat and pail,
Foamed forth" in floods, the nut-brown ale
While shout the riders every one,
Such day of mirth ne'er cheered their clan,
Since old Buccleuch the name did gain,
When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en.

The wily Page, ^ilh vengeful thought,

Remembered him of Tiulinn's yew,
And swore, it should be dearly bought,

That ever he the arrow drew.
First, he the yeoman did molest,
With bitter gibe and taunting jest ;
Told, how he fled at Solway strife,
And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife :
Then, shunning still his powerful arm,
At unawares he wrought him harm ;
From trencher stole his choicest cheer,
Dashed from his lips his can of beer ;
Then, to his knee sly creeping on,
With bodkin pierced him to the bone :
The venomed wound, and festering joint,

62 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. [Canto VL

Long after rued that bodkin's point.

The startled yeoman swore and spurned,

And board and flaggons overturned.

Riot and clamour wild began ;

Back to the hall the Urchin ran ;

Took in a darkling nook his post,

And grinned, and muttered, "Lost! lost! lost!"

By this, the Dame, lest further fray

Should mar the concord of the day,

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay.

And first stept forth old Albert Graame,

The Minstrel of that ancient name :

Was none who struck the harp so well,

Within the Land Debateable ;

Well friended too, his hardy kin,

Whoever lost, were sure to win ;

They sought the beeves, that made their broth,

In Scotland and in England both.

In homely guise, as nature bade,

His simple song the Borderer said.

XI.

Albert Grceme.
It was an English ladye bright

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall),
And she would marry a Scottish knight,

For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun,
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall,

But they were sad ere day was done,
Though Love was still the lord of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall ;

Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

And he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all !

XII.

That wine she had not tasted well
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall),

When dead, in her true love's arras, she fell,
For Love was still the lord of all !

He pierced her brother to the heart,

(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall : — )
So perish all, would true love part,

That Love may still be lord of all J

Canto VI] THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTKEL. 63

And then he took the cross diviue
(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall),

And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall),
Pray for their souls who died for love,

For Love shall still be lord of all !

As ended Albert's simple lay,

Arose a bard of loftier port ;
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay,

Renowned in haughty Henry's court :
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long,
Fitztraver of the silver song !

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre —
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame!

His was the hero's soul of fire,

And his the bard's immortal name,
And his was love, exalted high
By all the glow of chivalry.

They sought, together, climes afar,

And oft, within some olive grove,
When evening came with twinkling star,

They sung of Surrey's absent love.
His step the Italian peasant staid,

And deemed, that spirits from on high,
Round where some hermit saint was laid,

Were breathing heavenly melody ;
So sweet did harp and voice combine,
To praise the name of Geraldine.

Fitztraver ! 0 what tongue may say

The pangs thy faithful bosom knew.
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew 1
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,
His harp called wrath and vengeance down.
He left, for Naworth's iron towers,
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers,
And, faithful to his patron's name,
With Howard still Fitztraver came ;
Lord William's foremost favourite he,
And chief of all his minstrelsy.

Fitztraver.

'Twas All-souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high ;

He heard the midnight bell with anxious start.

64 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. {Canto VI.

Which, told, the mystic hour, approaching nigh,
When wise Cornelius promised, by his art,

To show to him the ladye of Ms heart,
Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim ;

Yet so the sage had bight to play his part,
That he should see her form in life and limb,
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight,
Save that before a mirror, huge and high,

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light
On mystic implements of magic might ;

On cross, and character, and talisman,
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright ;

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan,
As watch-light by the bed of some departing man.

But soon, within that mirror huge and high,

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ;
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy,

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream ;
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem

To form a lordly and a lofty room,
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam,

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom,
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom.

Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind !
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair,

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ;
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined,

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine
Some strain, that seemed her inmost soul to find :—

That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line,
That fair and lovely form, the Lady Oeraldine.

Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form,

And swept the goodly vision all away —
So royal envy rolled the murky storm

O'er my beloved Master's glorious day.
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay

On thee, and on thy children's latest line,
The wild caprice of thy despotic sway,

The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine,
The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Gerakline!

XXI.

Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong
Applauses of Fitztraver's song :

Canto 17.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 65

These hated Henry's name as death,
And those still held the ancient faith. —
Then, from his seat, with lofty air,
Hose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair ;
— St Clair, who, feasting high at Home,

Had with that lord to battle come.
Harold was born where restless seas
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ;
Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay; —
Still nods their palace to its fall,
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall! —
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave,
As if grim Odin rode her wave ;
And watched, the whilst, with visage pale,
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ;
For all of wonderful and wild
Had rapture for the lonely child.

And much of wild and wonderful

In these rude isles might fancy cull ;

For thither came, in times afar,

Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war,

The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood,

Skilled to prepare the raven's food,

Kings of the main their leaders brave,

Their barks the dragons of the wave.

And there, in many a stormy vale,

The Scald had told his wondrous tale ;

And many a Runic column high

Had witnessed grim idolatry.

And thus had Harold, in his youth.

Learned many a Saga's rhyme uncouth, —

Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled,

Whose monstrous circle girds the world ;

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell

Maddens the battle's bloody swell ;

Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom

By the pale death-lights of the tomb,

Ransacked the graves of warriors old,

Their falchions wrenched from corpses' hold,

Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms,

And bade the dead arise to arms !

With war and wonder all on flame,

To Roslin's bowers young Harold came,

Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree,

He learned a milder minstrelsy ;

Yet something of the Northern spell

Mixed with the softer numbers well.

XXIII.

Harold.

0 listen, listen, ladies gay !

No haughty feat of arms I tell ;

5

ES THE LAY OE THE LAST MIA'STBEL. [Cento VI

Soft is the note, and sad the lay,
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew !

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay !
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,

Nor tempt the stormy hrth to-day.

" The blackening wave is edged with white ;

To inch* and rock the sea-mews ny ;
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

" Last night the gifted Seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ;

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch :
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day V

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir

To-night at Roslin leads the ball,
But that my ladye-niother there

Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

■'"Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide,

If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle." —

O'er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous biaze was seen to gleam ;

'Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
And redder than tne bright mooa-beam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock,

It ruddied all tne copse-wood glen ;
'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,

And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,

Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie ;
Each Baron, for a sabie shroud,

Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seemed all on fire within, around,

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ;
Shone every pillar foliage-bound,

And glimmered all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair —

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Clair.

IhcIi, Iale.

CttniO WO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 67

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ;

Each one the holy vault doth hold —
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

And each St. Clair was buried there,
With candle, with book, and with knell ;

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay,

Scarce marked the guests the darkened hall,
Though, long before the sinking day,

A wondrous shade involved them all :
It was not eddying mist or fog,
Drained by the sun from fen or bog ;

Of no eclipse had sages told ;
And yet, as it came on apace,
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face,

Could scarce bis own stretched hand behold.
A secret horror checked the feast,
And chilled the soul of every guest ;
Even the high Dame stood half aghast,
She knew some evil on the blast ;
The elvish Page fell to the ground,
And, shuddering, muttered, "Found! found!
found ! "

Then sudden, through the darkened air

A flash of lightning came
So broad, so bright, so red the glare,

The castle seemed on flame.
Glanced every rafter of the hall,
Glanced every shield upon the wall ;
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone,
Were instant seen, and instant gone ;
Full through the guests' bedazzled band
Resistless flashed the levin brand,
And filled the hall with smouldering smoke,
As on the elvish Page it broke.

It broke, with thunder long and loud,

Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud, —
From sea to sea the larum rung ;

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal,
To arms the startled warders sprung.
When ended was the dreadful roar,
The elvish Dwarf was seen no more !

XXVI.

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall,
Sume saw a sight, not seen by all ;
That dreadful voice was heard by some,
Cry, with loud summons, " Gylblv, Cohe ! "

68 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTEEL. [Canto VI

And on the spot where burst the brand,
Just where the Page had flung him down,

Some saw an arm, and some a hand,
And some the waving of a gown.
The guests in silence prayed and shook,
And terror dimmed each lofty look.
But none of all the astonished train
Was so dismayed as Deloraine;
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn,
'Twas feared his mind would ne'er return ;

For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,

Like him, of whom the story ran,

Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.*

At length, by fits, he darkly told,

With broken hint, and shuddering cold —

That he had seen, right certainly,
A shape with amice wrapped around,
With a wrought Spanish baldric boimd,

Like pilgrim, from beyond the sea ;
And knew — but how it mattered not —
It was the wizard, Michael Scott.

The anxious crowd, with horror pale,
All trembling, heard the wondrous tale ;

No sound was made, no word was spoke,

Till noble Angus silence broke ;
And he a solemn sacred plight

Did to St. Bride of Douglas make,

That he a pilgrimage would take

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake
Of Michael's restless sprite.
Then each, to ease his troubled breast,
To some blessed saint his prayers addressed ;
Some to St. Modan made their vows,
Some to St. Mary of the Lowes,
Some to the Holy Kood of Lisle,
Some to Our Lady of the Isle ;
Each did his patron witness make,
That he such pilgrimage would take,
And Monks should sing, and bells should toll,
All for the weal of Michael's soul.
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayed,
'Tis said the noble Dame, dismayed,
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid.

Nought of the bridal will I tell,
Which after in short space befell :
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair
Blessed Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir :
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain
To wake the note of mirth again.

* The Isle of Man.— See Note.

C<mio VI.] THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 69

More meet it were to mark the day

Of penitence and prayer divine,
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array,

Sought Melrose' holy shrine.

With naked foot, and sackcloth rest,
And arms enfolded on his breast,

Did every pilgrim go ;
The standers-by might hear uneath,
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath,

Through all the lengthened row :
No lordly look, nor martial stride,
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride,

Forgotten their renown ;
Silent and slow, bike ghosts they glide
To the high altar's hallowed side,

And there they kneeled them down :
Above the suppliant chieftains wave
The banners of departed brave ;
Beneath the lettered stones were laid
The ashes of their fathers dead ;
From many a garnished niche around,
Stern saints and tortured martyrs frowned..

And slow up the dim aisle afar,
With sable cowl and scapular,
And snow-white stoles, in order due,
The holy Fathers, two and two,

In long procession came ;
Taper, and host, and book they bare,
And holy banner, nourished fair

With the Redeemer's name :
Above the prostrate pilgrim band
The mitred Abbot stretched his hand,

And blessed them as they kneeled ;
Withholy cross he signed them all.
And prayed they might be sage in hall,

And fortunate in field.
Then mass was sung, and prayers were said,
And solemn requiem for the dead ;
And bells tolled out their mighty peal,
For the departed spirit's weal ;
And ever in the office close
The hymn of intercession rose ;
And far the echoing aisles prolong
The awful burthen of the song, —

Dies ir.e, dies illa,

solvet s.iclum in favilla ;
While the pealing organ rung ;
Were it meet with sacred strain
To close my lay, so light and vain,
Thus the holy Fathers sung.

70 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. {Canto YI

Hymn for the Dead.
That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away,
What power shall be the sinner's stay ?
How shall he meet that dreadful day ?

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll ;
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead !

Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away !

Hushed is the harp — the Minstrel gone.

And did he wander forth alone ]

Alone, in indigence and age,

To linger out his pilgrimage 1

No : — close beneath proud Newark's tower,

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ;

A simple hut ; but there was seen

The little garden hedged with green,

The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.

There sheltered wanderers, by the blase,

Oft heard the tale of other days;

For much he loved to ope his door,

And give the aid he begged before.

So passed the winter's day ; but still.

When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,

And July's eve, with balmy breath,

Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath ;

When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw,

And corn was green on Carterhaugh,

And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak,

The aged Harper's soul awoke !

Then would he sing achievements high,

And circumstance of chivalry,

Till the rapt traveller would stay,

Forgetful of the closing day ;

And noble youths, the strain to hear,

Forsook the hunting of the deer ;

And Yarrow, as he rolled along,

Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.

MARMION;

A

TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.

& poem.

IN SIX CANTOS.

Alas! that Scottish Maid should sing
The combat where her lover full !

That Scottish Bard should wnlte the strlnp,,
The triumph of onr foes to tell!

TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY, LORD MONTAGU,

<tc, &c, dec
THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR,

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION, 1808.

It is hardly to be expected, that an Author, whom the Public have hon-
oured with some degree of applause, should not be again a trespasser on
their kindness. Yet the Author of Mabmion must be supposed to feel
some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards,
by this second intrusion, any reputation which his first Poem may have
procured him. The present Story turns upon the private adventures of a
fictitious character; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the
hero's fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which
led to it. The design of the Author was, if possible, to apprise his readers,
at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for the man-
ners of the Age in which it is laid. Any historical narrative, far more an
attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet
he may be permitted to hope, from the popularity of The Lay of the
Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times,
upon a broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will
not be unacceptable to the Public.

The poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes
with the defeat of Flodden, 9th September 1513.

MAB.MION.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST.

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ.

Ashestiel, Ettricie Forert.
November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear:
Late, gazing down the steepy linn,
That hems our little garden in,
Low in its dark and narrow glen,
You scarce the rivulet might ken,
So thick the tangled greenwood grew,
So feeble trilled the streamlet through:
Now murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen
Through bush and brier, no longer green,
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade,
Brawls over rock and wild cascade,
And, foaming brown with doubled speed
Hurries its waters to the Tweed.

No longer Autumn's glowing red
Upon our Forest hills is shed ;
No more, beneath the evening beam,
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ;
Away hath passed the heather-bell,
That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell :
Sallow his brow, and russet bare
Are now the sister-heights of Yare.
The sheep, before the pinching heaven,
To sheltered dale and down are driven,
Where yet some faded herbage pines,
And yet a watery sun-beam shines :
In meek despondency they eye
The withered sward and wintry sky,
And far beneath their summer hill,
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill :
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold,
And wraps him closer from the cold;
His dogs no merry circles wheel,
But, shivering, follow at his heel ;

74 MARMTCW. [Mrod.

A cowering glance they often cast,
As deeper moans the gathering blast.

My imps, though hardy, bold and wild.
As best befits the mountain child,
Feel the sad influence of the hour,
And. wail the daisy's vanished flower;
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn,
And anxious ask, — "Will spring return,
And birds and lambs again be gay,
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower
Again shall paint your summer bower;
Again the hawthorn shall supply
The garlands you delight to tie;
The lambs upon the lea shall bound,
The wild birds carol to the round,
And while you frolic light as they,
Too short shall seem the summer day

To mute and to material things
New life revolving summer brings;
The genial call dead Nature hears,
And in her glory re-appears.
But oh ! my country's wintry state
What second spring shall renovate?
"What powerful call shall bid arise
The buried warlike, and the wise ;
The mind, that thought for Britain's weal,
The hand, that grasped the victor steel]
The vernal sun new life bestows
Even on the meanest flower that blows;
But vainly, vainly, may he shine,
Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine;
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom,
That shrouds, 0 Pitt, thy hallowed tomb.

Deep graved in every British heart,
0 never let those names depart !
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave,
Who victor died on (Jadite wave ;
To him, as to the burning levin,
Short, bright, resistless course was given ;
Where'er his country's foe3 were found,
Was heard the fated thunder's sound,
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,
Boiled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more.

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,
Who bade the conqueror go forth,
And launched that thunderbolt of war
On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar;

* Copenhagen.

Canto /.] HLASHIOff. 75

Who, bom to guide such high emprise,
For Britain's weal was early wise ;
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave,
For Britain's sins, an early grave ;
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour,
A bauble held the pride of power.
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,
And served his Albion for herself:
Who, when the frantic crowd amain
Strained at subjection's bursting rein,_
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained,
The pride, he would not crush, restrained,
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause,
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman *fi
laws.

Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of power,
A watchman on the lonely tower,
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,
When fraud or danger were at baud •
By thee as by the beacon-light,
Our pilots had kept course aright ;
As some proud column, though alone,
Thy strength had propped the tottering throne.
Now is the stately column broke,
The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,
The trumpet's silver sound is still,
The warder silent on the hill !

Oh, think, how to his latest day,
When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey,
With Palinure's unaltered mood,
Firm at his dangerous post he stood ;
Each call for needful rest repelled,
With dying hand the rudder held,
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway.
The steerage of the realm gave way !
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains,
One unpolluted church remains,
W hose peaceful bells ne'er sent around
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound,
But still, upon the hallowed day,
Convoke the swains to praise and pray;
While faith and civil peace are dear,
Grace this cold marble with a tear, —
He who preserved them, Pitt, lies here

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,
Because his rival slumbers nigh ;
Nor be thy rtquiescat dumb,
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.
For talents mourn, untimely lost,
When best employed, and wanted most;
Mourn genius high, and lore profound.
And wit that loved to play, not wound ;

7G MARMION. [Introd

And all the reasoning powers divine,
To penetrate, resolve, combine ;
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow. —
They sleep with him who sleeps below:
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save
From error him who owns this grave,
Be every harsher thought suppressed,
And sacred be the last long rest.
Here, where the end of earthly things
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung;
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong
The distant notes of holy song,
As if some angel spoke agen,
All peace on earth, good-will to men;
If ever from an English heart,
0 here let prejudice depart,
And partial feeling cast aside,
Record, that Fox a Briton died !
When Europe crouched to France's yoke,
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke,
And the firm Russian's purpose brave
Was bartered by a timorous slave,
Even then dishonour's peace he spurned,
The sullied olive-branch returned,
Stood for his country's glory fast,
And nailed her colours to the mast.
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave
A portion in this honoured grave;
And ne'er held marble in its trust
Of two such wondrous men the dust.

With more than mortal powers endowed,
How high they soared above the crowd !
Theirs was no common party race,
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ;
Like fabled gods, their mighty war
Shook realms and nations in its jar ;
Beneath each banner proud to stand,
Looked up the noblest of the land,
Till through the British world were known
The names of Pitt and Fox alone.
Spells of such force no wizard grave
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,
Though his could drain the ocean dry,
And force the planets from the sky.
These spells are spent, and, spent with these,
The wine of life is on the lees.
Genius, and taste, and talent gone,
For ever tombed beneath the stone,
Where, — taming thought to human pride !
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier :

Canto /.] MARJUON. 77

O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound,
And Fox's shall the notes rebound.
The solemn echo seems to cry, —
" Here let their discord with them die;
Speak not for those a separate doom,
Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb,
But search the land of living men,
Where wilt thou find their like agen ]"

Kest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries
Of dying Nature bid you rise;
Not even your Britain's groans can pierce
The leaden silence of your hearse :
Then, 0 how impotent and vain
This grateful tributary strain !
Though not unmarked from northern clime,
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme :
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung;
The bard you deigned to praise, your deathless
names has sung.

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while,
My wildered fancy still beguile !
From this high theme how can I part,
Ere half unloaded is my heart !
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew,
And all the raptures fancy knew,
And all the keener rush of blood,
That throbs through bard in bard-like mood,
Were here a tribute mean and low,
Though all their mingled streams could flow —
Woe, wonder, and sensation high,
In one spring-tide of ecstasy. —
It will not be — it may not last —
The vision of enchantment's past :
Like frost-work in the morning ray,
The fancied fabric melts away;
Each Gothic arch, memorial stone,
And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone,
And, lingering last, deception dear,
The choir's high sounds die on my ear.
Now slow return the lonely down,
The silent pastures bleak and brown,
The farm begirt with copse-wood wild,
The gambols of each frolic child,
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on.

Prompt on unequal tasks to run,
Thus Nature disciplines her son :
Meeter, she says, for me to stray,
And waste the solitary day,
In plucking from yon fen the reed,
And watch it floating down the Tweed;
Or idly list the shrilling lay
With which the milk-maid cheers her way.

78 MARMIOK. [JtUrod

Marking its cadence rise and fail,
As from the field, beneath her pail,
She trips it down the uneven dale:
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn,
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn,
Though oft he stop in rustic fear,
Lest his old legends tire the ear
Of one, who, in his simple mind,
May boast of book-learned taste refined.

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell,
(For few have read romance so well)
How still the legendary lay
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ;
How on the ancient minstrel strain
Time lays his palsied hand in vain ;
And how our hearts at doughty deeds,
By warriors wrought in steely weeds,
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ;
As when the Champion of the Lake
Enters Morgana's fated house,
Or in the Chapel Perilous,
Despising spells and demons' force,
Holds converse with the unburied corse;
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move,
(Alas ! that lawless was their love)
He sought proud Tarquin in his den,
And freed full sixty knights; or when,
A sinful man, and unconfessed,
He took the Sangreal's holy quest,
And, slumbering, saw the vision high,
He might not view with waking eye.

The mightiest chiefs of British song
Scorned not such legends to prolong:
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream,
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme;
And Dryden, in immortal strain,
Had raised the Table Round again,
But that a ribald king and court
Bade him toil on, to make them sport;
Demanded for their niggard pay,
Fit for their souls, a looser lay,
Licentious satire, song, and play:
The world defrauded of the high design,
Profaned the God-given strength, and marred
the lofty line.

Warmed by such names, well may we then,
Though dwindled sons of little men,
Essay to break a feeble lance
In the fair fields of old romance ;
Or seek the moated castle's cell,
Where long through talisman and spell,
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept,
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept:

Canto /.] MARMION. 79

There sound the barpings of the North,

Till he awake arid sally forth,

On venturous quest to prick again,

In all his arms, with all his train,

Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf,

Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf,

And wizard with his wand of might,

And errant maid on palfrey white.

Around the Genius weave their spells,

Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells;

Mystery, half-veiled and half-revealed ;

And Honour, with his spotless shield ;

Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear,

That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ;

And gentle Courtesy; and Faith,

Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death;

And Valour, lion-mettled lord,

Leaning upon his own good sword.

Well has thy fair achievement shown,
A worthy meed may thus be won;
Ytene's * oaks — beneath whose shade
Their theme the merry minstrels made,
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,
And that Red King, + who, while of old,
Through Boldrewood the chase he led,
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled —
Ytene's oaks have heard again
Renewed such legendary strain;
For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul,
That Amadis so famed in hall,
For Oriana, foiled in fight
The Necromancer's felon might;
And well in modern verse hast wove
Partenopex's mystic love :
Hear then, attentive to my lay,
A knightly tale of Albion's elder day.

CANTO FIRST.

THE CASTLE.

Bay set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,

And Cheviot's mountains lone !
The battled towers, the Donjon Keep,
The loop-hole grates where captives weep,
The flanking walls that round it sweep,

In yellow lustre shone.

* The New Forest in Hampshire, anciently so called,
f William Euros.

SO MAItMION. [Canto I

The warriors on the turrets high,
Moving athwart the evening sky,

Seemed forms of giant height :
Their armour, as it caught the rays,
Flushed back again the western blaze,

In lines of dazzling light.

St. George's banner, broad and gay,
Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung ;
The evening gale had scarce the power
To wave it on the .Donjon tower,

So heavily it hung.
The scouts had parted on their search,

The castle gates were barred ;
Above the gloomy portal arch,
Timing his footsteps to a march,

The warder kept his guard ;
Low humming as he paced along,
Some ancient Border gathering-song.

A distant trampling sound he hears ;
He looks abroad, and soon appears,
O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump* of spears,

Beneath a pennon gay ;
A horseman darting from the crowd,
Like lightning from a summer cloud,
Spurs on his mettled courser proud,

Before the dark array.
Beneath the sable palisade,
That closed the castle barricade,

His bugle-horn he blew ;
The warder hasted from the wall,
And warned the Captain in the hall,

For well the blast he knew ;
And joyfully that Knight did call,
To sewer, squire, and seneschal.

" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,

Bring pasties of the doe,
And quickly make the entrance free,
And bid my heralds ready be,
And every minstrel sound his glee,

And all our trumpets blow ;
And, from the platform, spare ye not
To fire a noble salvo-shot :

Lord Marmion waits below." —

* This word properly applies to a flight of water-fowl; but is applied,
by analogy, to a body of horse.

There is a Knight of the North Country,

Which leads a lusty plump of spears. — Flodden Field,

Canto /.] 3IAKMI0N. 81

Then to the Castle's lower ward

Sped forty yeomen tall,
The iron-studded gates unbarred,
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard,
The lofty palisade unsparred,

And let the draw-bridge fall.

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,

Proudly his red-roan charger trod.

His helm hung at the saddle-bow;

Well, by his visage, you might know

He was a stalworth knight, and keen, ■

And had in many a battle been ;

The scar on his brown cheek revealed

A token true of Bosworth field ;

His eye-brow dark, and eye of fire,

Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire ;

Yet lines of thought upon his cheek,

Did deep design and counsel speak.
His forehead, by his casque worn bare,
His thick moustache, and curly hair,
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,

But more through toil than age ;
His square-turned joints, and strength of limb,
Showed him no carpet-knight so trim,
But, in close fight, a champion grim,
In camps, a leader sage.

Well armed was he from head to heel,

In mail, and plate, of Milan steel ;

But his strong helm, of mighty cost,

Was all with burnished gold embossed ;

Amid the plumage of the crest,

A falcon hovered on her nest,

With wings outspread, and forward breast ,

E'en such a falcon, on his shield,

Soared sable in an azure field ;

The golden legend bore aright,

" Who checks at jie, to death is digut."

Blue was the charger's broidered rein ;

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane;

The knightly housing's ample fold

Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold.

Behind him rode two gallant squires,
Of noble name, and knightly sires :
They burned the gilded spurs to claim;
For well could each a war-horse tame,
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,
And lightly bear the ring away ;
Nor less with courteous precepts stored,
Could dance in hall, and carve at board,
6

32 MARMION, [Canto I.

And frame love-ditties passing rare,
And sing them to a lady fair.

Four men-at-arms came at their backs,
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe:
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,
And led his sumpter mules along,
And ambling palfrey, when at need
Him listed ease his battle-steed.
The last, and trustiest of the four,
On high bis forky pennon bore ;
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue,
Fluttered the streamer glossy blue,
Where, blazoned sable, as before,
The towering falcon seemed to soar.
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,
In hosen black, and jerkins blue,
With falcons broidered on each breast,
Attended on their lord's behest.
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ;
Each one a six-foot bow could bend,
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ;
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,
And at their belts their quivers rung.
Their dusty palfreys, and array,
Showed they had marched a weary way.

'Tis meet that I should tell you now,
How fairly armed, and ordered how,

The soldiers of the guard,
With musquet, pike, and morion,
To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the Castle-yard ;
Minstrels and trumpeters were there,
The gunner held his linstock yare,

For welcome-shot prepared : —
Entered the train, and such a clang,
As then through all his turrets rang,

Old Norhain never heard.

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,

The trumpets nourished brave,
The cannon from the ramparts glanced,

And thundering welcome gave.
A blythe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court,

He scattered angels round.
" Welcome to Norham, Marmion I

Stout heart, and open hand !

CaiUo I.] BABMIWT. 83

Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
Thou flower of English land ! "

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,
With silver scutcheon round their neck

Stood on the steps of stone,
l!y which you reach the Donjon gate,
And there with herald pomp and state,

They hailed Lord Marraion :
They hailed him Lord of Fontenayo,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tam worth tower and town;
And he, their courtesy to requite,
Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight,

All as he lighted down.
" Now largesse, largesse,* Lord Mannion,

Knight of the crest of gold !
A blazoned shield in battle won,

Ne'er guarded heart so bold. " —

They marshalled him to the Castle-hall,

Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourished the trumpet-call,

And the heralds loudly cried, —
" lloom, lordings, room for Lord Marruion,

With the crest and helm of gold !
Full well we know the trophies won

In the lists at Cottiswokl :
There, vainly, Ralph de Wilton strove

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand;
To him he lost his ladye-love,

And to the king his land.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair ;
We saw Lord Jlarmion pierce his shield,

And saw his saddle bare ;
We saw the victor win the crest,

He wears with worthy pride ;
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,

His foeman's scutcheon tied.
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!

Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquered in the right,

Marmion of Fontenaye! " —

XIII.

Then stepped to meet that noble lord,

Sir Hugh the Heron bold,
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,

And Captain of the Hold.

* The cry by which the heralds expressed their thanks for the bounty
of the nobles

81 MARMION. [Canto 1

He led Lord Marmion to the deas,*

Raised o'er the pavement high,
And placed him in the upper place —

They feasted full and high :
The whiles a Northern harper rude
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,

" How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all,
Stout Willimondswick,
And Hard-riding Dick,
And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the
Wall,
Have set on Sir Albany Feather stonhaugh,
And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw."—
Scantily Lord Marmion's ear could brook

The harper's barbarous lay ;
Yet much he praised the pains he took,
And well those pains did pay :
For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain,
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain.

" Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says,

" Of your fair courtesy,
I pray you bide some little space,

In this poor tower with me.
Here may you keep your arms from rust,

May breathe your war-horse well ;
Seldom hath passed a week, but giust

Or feat of arms befell :
The Scots can rein a mettled steed,

And love to couch a spear ; —
St. George ! a stirring life they lead,

That have such neighbours near:
Then stay with us a little space,

Our northern wars to learn ;
I pray you for your lady's grace." —

Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.

The Captain marked his altered look,

And gave a squire the sign ;
A mighty wassel bowl he took,

And crowned it high with wine.
"Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion:

But first I pray thee fair,
Where hast thou left that page of thine
That used to serve thy cup of wine,

Whose beauty was so rare ?
When last in Raby towers we met

The boy I closely eyed,
And often marked his cheeks were wet

With tears he fain would hide ;

The principal table, or raised part on which it was placed.

Canto /.] MARMIOX. 8£

His was no rugged horse-boy's hand.
To burnish shield, or sharpen brand,

Or saddle battle-steed ;
But meeter seemed for lady fair,
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair,
Or through embroidery, rich and rare,

The slender silk to lead :
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold,

His bosom — when he sighed.
The russet doublet's rugged fold

Could scarce repel its pride !
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth

To serve in lady's bower]
Or was the gentle page, in sooth,

A gentle paramour]" —

Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ;

He rolled his kindling eye,
With pain his rising wrath suppressed,

Yet made a calm reply :
" That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair,

He might not brook the northern air.
More of his fate if thou would'st learn,

I left him sick in Lindisfarn :
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say,

Why does thy lovely lady gay
Disdain to grace the hall to-day ]
Or has that dame, so fair and sage,
(ione on some pious pilgrimage]" —
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame
Whispered light tales of Heron's dame.

Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt,

Careless the Knight replied,
" No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt,

Delights in cage to bide :
Norham is grim, and grated close,
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse,

And many a darksome tower ;
And better loves my lady bright,
To sit in liberty and light,

In fair Queen Margaret's bower.
We hold our greyhound in our hand,

Our falcon on our glove ;
But where shall we find leash or band,

For dame that loves to rove ]
Let the wild falcon soar her swing,
She'll stoop when she has tired her wing.

" Nay, if with Royal James's bride
The lovely Lady Heron bide,

MAEMION. [Canto 1.

Behold me here a messenger,

Tour tender greetings prompt to bear;

For, to the Scottish court addressed,

I journey at our king's behest,

And pray you, of your grace, provide

For me, and mine, a trusty guide.

I have not ridden in Scotland since

James backed the cause of that mock prince,

Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit,

Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.

Then did I march with Surrey's power,

What time we razed old Ayton tower."—

XIX.

" For such like need, my lord, I trow,
Norham can find you guides enow ;
For here be some have pricked as far
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ;
Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale,
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ;
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods,
And given them light to set their hoods." —

xx.

" Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried,

Were I in warlike-wise to ride,

A better guard I would not lack,

Than your stout forayers at my back:

But, as in form of peace I go,

A friendly messenger, to know,

Why through all Scotland, near and far,

Their king is mustering troops for war,

The sight of plundering Border spears

Might justify suspicious fears,

And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil,

Break out in some unseemly broil:

A herald were my fitting guide ;

Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ;

Or pardoner, or travelling priest,

Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." —

XXI.

The Captain mused a little space,
And passed his hand across his face.
— " Fain would I find the guide you want,
But ill may spare a pursuivant,
The only men that safe can ride
Mine errands on the Scottish side:
And, though a bishop built this fort,
Few holy brethren here resort ;
Even our good chaplain, as I ween,
Since our last siege, we have not seeu:
The mass he might not sing or say,
Upon one stinted meal a day;
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,
And prayed for our success the while.

Canto I.] MARMION. 87

Our Norliain vicar, woe betide,

Is ail too 'well in case to ride.

The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein

The wildest war-horse in your train;

But then, no spearman in the hall

Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.

Friar John of Tillmouth were the man,

A blythesome brother at the can,

A welcome guest in hall and bower,

He knows each castle, town, and tower,

In which the wine and ale is good,

'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.

But that good man, as ill befalls,

Hath seldom left our castle walls,

Since on the vigil of St. Bede,

In evil hour lie crossed the Tweed,

To teach Dame Alison her creed.

Old Bughtrig found him with his wife;

And John, an enemy to strife,

Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.

The jealous churl hath deeply swore,

That, if again he ventures o'er,

He shall shrieve penitent no more.

Little he loves such risques, I know;

Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." —

Young Relby, at the fair hall-board
Carved to his uncle, and that lord,
And reverently took up the word.
" Kind uncle, woe were we each one,
If harm should hap to brother John.
He is a man of mirthful speech,
Can many a game and gambol teach ;
Full well at tables can he play,
And sweep at bowls the stake away.
None can a lustier carol bawl,
The needfullest among us all,
When time hangs heavy in the hall,
And snow comes thick at Christmas tide,
And we can neither hunt, nor ride
A foray on the Scottish side.
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude,
May end in worse than loss of hood.
Let Friar John, in safety, still
In chimney-corner snore his fill,
Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill:
Last night, to Norham there came one,
Will better guide Lord Marmion." —
" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay,
Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say."-

" Here is a holy Palmer come,

From Salem first, and last from Rome:

[Canto I.

One, that hath kissed the blessed tomb,
And visited each holy shrine,
In Araby and Palestine :
On hills of Armene hath been,
Where Noah's ark may yet be seen;
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod,
Which parted at the prophet's rod ;
In Sinai's wilderness he saw
The Mount, where Israel heard the law,
Mid thunder dint, and flashing levin,
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given.

He shows Saint James's cockle-shell,

Of fair Mountserrat, too, can tell ;
And of that Grot where Olives nod,

Where, darling of each heart and eye,

From all the youth of Sicily,
Saint Rosalie retired to God.

" To stout Saint George of Norwich merry,
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury,
Outhbert of Durham and Saint Bede,
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed.
He knows the passes of the North,
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ;
Little he eats, and long will wake,
And drinks but of the stream or lake.
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ;
But, when our John hath quaffed his ale,
As little as the wind that blows,
And warms itself against his nose,
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes."

"Gramercy !" quoth Lord Marmion,
" Full loth were I that Friar John,
That venerable man, for me,
Were placed in fear or jeopardy.

If this same Palmer will me lead
From hence to Holy- Rood,

Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed,

Instead of cockle-shell, or bead,
With angels fair and good.
I love such holy ramblers ; still
They know to charm a weary hill,

With song, romance, or lay;
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend at the least,

They bring to cheer the way. "

" Ah ! noble sir," young Selby said,

And finger on his lip he laid,

" This man knows much, perchance e'en more

Than he could learn by holy lore.

Canto /.] MARMION. 89

Still to himself lie's muttering,
And shrinks as at some unseen thing.
Last night we listened at his cell;
Strange sounds we heard, and sooth to tell,
He murmured on till morn, howe'er
No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain,
As other voices spoke again.
I cannot tell — I like it not —
Friar John hath told us it is wrote,
No conscience clear, and void of wrong,
Can rest awake, and pray so long.
Himself still sleeps before his beads
Have marked ten aves, and two creeds."

" —Let pass," quoth Marmion; " by my fay,
This man shall guide me on my way,
Although the great arch-fiend and he
Had sworn themselves of company;
So please you, gentle youth, to call
This Palmer to the castle-hall." —
The summoned Palmer came in place;
His sable cowl o'erhung his face ;

In his black mantle was he clad,

With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,
On his broad shoulders wrought;

The scallop-shell his cap did deck;

The crucifix around his neck
Was from Loretto brought ;
His sandals were with travel tore,
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore;
The faded palm-branch in his hand.
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land.

When as the Palmer came in hall,

Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall,

Or had a statelier step withal,

Or looked more high and keen;
For no saluting did he wait,
Put strode across the hall of state,
And fronted Marmion where he sate,

As he his peer had been.
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil;
His cheek was sunk, alas the while !
And when he struggled at a smile,

His eye looked haggard wild:
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there.
In his wan face, and sun-burned hair,

She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,
Soon change the form that best we know-

90 MARMION. [Canto I

For deadly fear can time outgo,

And blanch at once the hair;
Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want can quench the eye's bright grace,
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace,

More deeply than despair.
Happy whom none of these befall,
But this poor Palmer knew them all.

Lord Marmion then his bcon did ask;
The Palmer took on him the task,
So he would march with morning tide,
To Scottish court to be his guide.
— " But I have solemn vows to pay
And may not linger by the way,

To fair Saint Andrew's bound
Within the ocean-cave to pray,
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay,
From midnight to the dawn of day,

Sung to the billows' sound;
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel,

And the crazed brain restore: —
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring
Could back to peace my bosom bring,

Or bid it throb no more ! " —

And now the midnight draught of sleep,
Where wine and spices richly steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The Captain pledged his noble guest,
The cup went through among the rest,

Who drained it merrily;
Alone the Palmer passed it by,
Though Selby pressed him courteously.

This was the sign the feast was o'er ;

It hushed the merry wassel roar,
The minstrels ceased to sound.

Soon in the castle nought was heard,

But the slow footstep of the guard,
Pacing his sober round.

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose:

And first the chapel doors unclose;

Then, after morning rites were done,

(A hasty mass from Friar John,)

And knight and squire had broke their fast,

On rich substantial repast,

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse :

Canto l] MARMION. 01

Then came the stirrup-cup in course;

Between the Baron and his host,

No point of courtesy was lost ;

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid,

Solemn excuse the Captain made,

Till, filing from the gate, had past

That noble train, their lord the last.

Then loudly rung the trumpet-call;

Thundered the cannon from the wall,
And shook the Scottish shore;

Around the castle eddied, slow,

Volumes of smoke as white as snow,
And hid its turrets hoar;

Till they rolled forth upon the air.

And met the river breezes there,
Which gave again the prospect fair.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND.

TO THE REV. JOHN HARRIOT, M.A.

Ashestiel, Ettricle Forest.

TnE scenes are desert now, and bare,
Where flourished once a forest fair,
When these waste glens with copse were lined,
And peopled with the hart and hind.
Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears
Have fenced him for three hundred years,
While fell around his green compeers-
Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell
The changes of his parent dell,
Since he, so grey and stubborn now,
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ;
Would he could tell how deep the shade,
A thousand mingled branches made;
How broad the shadows of the oak,
How clung the rowan * to the rock,
And through the foliage showed his head,
With narrow leaves, and berries red;
What pines on every mountain sprung,
O'er every dell what birches hung,
In every breeze what aspens shook,
What alders shaded every brook !

" Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say,
" The mighty stag at noontide lay:
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game,
(The neighbouring dingle bears his name,)

* Mountain-ash.

92 MARMION. Unlrnd.

With lurching step around me prowl,

And stop against the moon to howl;

The mountain boar, on battle set,

His tusks upon my stem would whet;

While doe and roe, and red-deer good,

Have bounded by through gay green-wood.

Then oft, from Newark's riven tower,

Sallied a Scottish monarch's power :

A thousand vassals mustered round,

With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ;

And I might see the youth, intent,

Guard every pass with cross-bow bent;

And through the brake the rangers stalk,

And falc'ners hold the ready hawk;

And foresters, in green-wood trim,

Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim,

Attentive, as the brachet's * bay

From the dark covert drove the prey,

To slip them as he broke away.

The startled quarry bounds amain,

As fast the gallant grey-hounds strain ;

Whistles the arrow from the bow,

Answers the harquebuss below;

While all the rocking hills reply,

To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry,

And bugles ringing lightsomely. " —

Of such proud huntings, many tales
Yet linger in our lonely dales ;
Up pathless Ettricke, and on Yarrow,
Where erst the Outlaw drew his arrow.
But not more blythe that sylvan court,
Than we have been at humbler sport;
Though small our pomp, and mean our game,
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same.
Remember'st thou my grey-hounds true 1
O'er holt, or hill, there never flew,
From slip, or leash, there never sprang,
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang.
Nor dull, between each merry chase,
Passed by the intermitted space ;
For we had fair resource in store,
In Classic, and in Gothic lore :
We marked each memorable scene,
And held poetic talk between;
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along,
But had its legend, or its song.
All silent now — for now are still
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill !
No longer, from thy mountains dun,
The yeoman hears the well-known gun,
And, while his honest heart glows warm,
At thought of his paternal farm.

Canto J!.] MARJIlu*. Do

Round to his mates a brimmer fills,
And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hilis!"
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers.
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers.
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw,
By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh ;
No youthful baron's left to grace
The Forest-Sheriffs lonely chase,
And ape, in manly step and tone,
The majesty of Oberon :
And she is gone, whose lovely face
Is but her least and lowest grace;
Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given,
To show our earth the charms of heaven,
She could not glide along the air,
With form more light, or face more fair.
No more the widow's deafened ear
Grows quick, that lady's step to hear:
At noontide she expects her not,
Nor busies her to trim the cot;
Pensive she turns her humming wheel,
Or pensive cooks her orphan's meal ;
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread,
The gentle hand by which they're fed.

From Yair, — which hills so closely "bind,
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find,
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil,
Till all his eddying currents boil, —
Her long-descended lord is gone,
And left us by the stream alone.
And much I miss those sportive boys,
Companions of my mountain joys,
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth,
When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
Close to my side, with what delight,
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight,
When, pointing to his airy mound,
I called his ramparts holy ground !*
Kindled their brows to hear me speak;
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek,
Despite the difference of our years,
Return again the glow of theirs.
Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure,
They will not, cannot long endure ;
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide,
You may not linger by the side ;
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore,
And Passion ply the sad and oar.
Yet cherish the remembrance still,
Of the lone mountain, aud the rill ;

• There is, on a high mountainous ridge above the farm cf Ashestiol
a fine called Wallace's Trench.

94 StAItMION. {Introd.

For trust, dear boys, the time will come,
When fiercer transport sball be dumb,
And you will think right frequently,
But, well I hope, without a sigh,
On the free hours that we have spent,
Together, on the brown hill's bent.

"When, musing on companions gone,
We doubly feel ourselves alone,
Something, my friend, we yet may gain, —
There is a pleasure in this pain:
It soothes the love of lonely rest,
Deep in each gentler heart impressed.
'Tis silent amid worldly toils,
And stifled soon by mental broils ;
But, in a bosom thus prepared,
Its still small voice is often heard,
Whispering a mingled sentiment,
"l'wixt resignation and content.
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake,
By lone St. Mary's silent lake ;
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge,
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ;
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink
At once upon the level brink ;
And just a trace of silver sand
Marks where the water meets the land.
Far in the mirror, bright and blue,
Each hill's huge outline you may view ;
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare,
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there,
Save where, of land, yon slender line
Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine.
Yet even this nakedness has power,
And aids the feeling of the hour :
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy,
Where living thing concealed might lie ;
Nor point, retiring, hides a dell,
Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ;
There's nothing left to fancy's guess,
You see that all is loneliness :
And silence aids— though these steep hills
Send to the lake a thousand rills ;
In summer tide, so soft they weep,
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ;
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude,
So stilly is the solitude.

Nought living meets the eye or ear,
But well I ween the dead are near ;
For though, in feudal strife, a foe
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil,
The peasant rests him from his toil,
And, dying, bids his bones be laid
Where erst his simple fathers prayed.

Canto II.] MARMION. 95

If age had tamed the passions' strife,
And fate had cut my ties to life,
Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell,
And rear again the chaplain's cell,
Like that same peaceful hermitage,
Where Milton longed to spend his age
'Twere sweet to mark the setting day,
On Bourhope's lonely top decay ;
And, as it faint and feeble died,
On the broad lake, and mountain's side,
To say, " Thus pleasures fade away ;
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay,
And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey ;" —
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower,
And think on Yarrow's faded Flower :
And when that mountain-sound I heard,
Which bids us be for storm prepared, —
The distant rustling of his wings,
As up his force the Tempest brings,
'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave,
To sit upon the Wizard's grave ;
That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust
From company of holy dust ;
On which no sun-beam ever shines —
(So superstition's creed divines,)
Thence view the lake, with sullen roar,
Heave her broad billows to the shore ;
And mark the wild swans mount the gale,
Spread wide through mist their snowy sail,
And ever stoop again, to lave
Their bosoms on the surging wave :
Then, when against the driving hail
No longer might my plaid avail,
Back to my lonely home retire,
And light my lamp, and trim my fire :
There ponder o'er some mystic lay,
Till the wild tale had all its sway,
And, in the bittern's distant shriek,
I heard unearthly voices speak,
A nd thought the Wizard Priest was come,
To claim again his ancient home !
And bade my busy fancy range,
To frame him fitting shape and strange,
Till from the task my brow I cleared,
And smiled to think that I had feared.

But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life,
(Though but escape from fortune's strife,)
Something most matchless good, and wise,
A great and grateful sacrifice ;
And deem each hour, to musing given,
A step upon the road to heaven.

Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease,
Such peaceful solitudes displease :

9U MARMION. ICanto 11

He loves to drown his bosom's jar

Amid the elemental war :

And my black Palmer's choice had been

Some ruder and more savage scene,

Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene.

There eagles scream from isle to shore ;

Down all the rocks the torrents roar ;

O'er the black waves incessant driven,

Dark mists infect the summer heaven ;

Through the rude barriers of the lake,

Away its hurrying waters break,

Faster and whiter dash and curl,

Till down yon dark abyss they hurl.

Rises the fog-smoke white as snow,

Thunders the viewless stream below,

Diving, as if condemned to lave

Some demon's subterranean cave,

Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell,

Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell.

And well that Palmer's form and mien

Had suited with the stormy scene,

Just on the edge, straining his ken

To view the bottom of the den,

Where, deep deep down, and far within,

Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ;

Then, issuing forth one foamy wave,

And wheeling round the Giant's Grave,

White as the snowy charger's tail,

Drives down the pass of Moffatdale.

Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung,
To many a Border theme has rung :
Then list to me, and thou shalt know
Of this mysterious Man of Woe.

CANTO SECOND.

THE CONVENT.
I.

The breeze, which swept away the smoke,

Round Norham Castle rolled,
When all the loud artillery spoke,
With lightning-flash, and thunder stroke,

As Marmion left the Hold.
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze ;
For, far upon Northumbrian seas,

It freshly blew, and strong,
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile,
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle,

It bore a bark along.
Upon the gale she stooped her side,
And bounded o'er the swelling tide,

As she were dancing home ;

Canto II.] MARMION. 97

The merry seamen laughed, to see
Their gallant ship so lustily

Furrow the green sea-foam.
Much joyed they in their honoured freight ;
For, on the deck, in chair of state,
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed,
With five fair nuns, the galley graced.

'Twas sweet to see these holy maids,
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades,

Their first flight from the cage,
How timid, and how curious too,
For all to them was strange and new,
And all the common sights they view,

Their wonderment engage.
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail,

With many a benedicite;
One at the rippling surge grew pale,

And would lor terror pray ;
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh,
His round black head, and sparkling eye,

Reared o'er the foaming spray :
And one would still adjust her veil,
Disordered by the summer gale,
Perchance lest some more worldly eye
Her dedicated charms might spy ;
Perchance, because such action graced
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist.
Light was each simple bosom there,
Save two, who ill might pleasure share,—
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare.

The Abbess was of noble blood,
But early took the veil and hood,
Ere upon life she cast a look,
Or knew the world that she forsook.
Fair too she "was, and kind had been
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen
For her a timid lover sigh,
Nor knew the influence of her eye ;
Love, to her ear, was but a name,
Combined with vanity and shame ;
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all
Bounded within the cloister wall :
The deadliest sin her mind could reach,
Was of monastic rule the breach ;
And her ambition's highest aim,
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame.
For this she gave her ample dower,
To raise the convent's eastern tower ;
For this, with carving rare and quaint,
She decked the chapel of the saint,

98 MAKMIOi,'. .Canto 11

.and gave the relique-shrine of cost,
With ivory and gems embossed.
The poor her convent's bounty blessed,
The pilgrim in its halls found rest.

Black was her garb, her rigid rule
Reformed on Benedictine school ;
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare;
Vigils and penitence austere,
Had early quenched the light of youth,
But gentle was the dame in sooth;
Though vain of her religious sway,
She loved to see her maids obey,
Yet nothing stern was she in cell,
And the nuns loved tbeir Abbess well.
Sad was this voyage to the dame ;
Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came,
There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old,
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold
A chapter of Saint Benedict,
For inquisition stern and strict,
On two apostates from the faith,
And, if need were, to doom to death.

Nought say I here of Sister Clare,
Save this, that she was young and fair ;
As yet a novice unprofessed,
Lovely, and gentle, but distressed,
t-'he was betrothed to one now dead.
Or worse, who had dishonoured fled.
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand
To one who loved her for her land :
Herself, almost heart-broken now,
Was bent to take the vestal vow,
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom,
Her blasted hopes and withered bloora.

She sate upon the galley's prow,
And seemed to mark the waves below ;
Kay seemed, so fixed her look and eye,
To count them as they glided by.
She saw them not — 'twas seeming all —
Far other scene Ler thoughts recall, —
A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare,
Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there ;
There saw she, where some careless hand
O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand,
To hide it till the jackals come,
To tear it from; the scanty tomb. —
See what a woeful look was given, •
As she raised up her eyes to heaven!

Canto II] MABMIOX. 9J>

Lovely, and gentle, and distressed —

These charms might tame the fiei'cest breast :

Harpers have sung, and poets told,

That he, in fury uncontrolled,

The shaggy monarch of the wood,

Before a virgin, fair and good,

Hath pacified his savage mood.

But passions in the human frame

Oft put the lion's rage to shame :

And jealousy, by dark intrigue,

With sordid avarice in league,

Had practised, with their bowl and knife,

Against the mourner's harmless life.

This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay

Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet grey.

And now the vessel skirts the strand

Of mountainous Northumberland ;

Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise,

And catch the nuns' delighted eyes.

Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay,

And Tynemouth's priory and bay ;

Tliev marked, amid her trees, the hall

Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ;

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods

Push to the sea through sounding woods ;

They passed the tower of Widderington,

Mother of many a valiant son ;

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell,

To the good Saint who owned the cell ;

Then did the Alne attention claim,

And Wark worth, proud of Percy's in: me :

And next, they crossed themselves, to hear

The whitening breakers sound so near,

Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar,

On Dunstanborough's caverned shore ;

Thy tower, proud liamborough, marked they hero,

King Ida's castle, huge and square,

Prom its tall rock look grimly down.

And on the swelling ocean frown

Then from the coa^t they bore away,

And reached the Holy Island's bay.

IX.

The tide did now its flood-mark gain,
And girdled in the Saint's domain :
For, with the flow and ebb, its style
Varies from continent to isle ;

Pry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day,
The pilgrims to the shrine find way ;
Twice every day, the waves efface
Of staves and sandalled feet the tract.

100 MAEMION. [Canto II.

As to the port the galley flew,
Higher and higher rose to view,
The Castle, with its battled walls,
The ancient Monastery's halls,
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile,
Placed on the margin of the isle.

In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned,
With massive arches broad and round,

That rose alternate, row and row,

On ponderous columns, short and low,
Built ere the art was known,

By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk,

The arcades of an alleyed walk
To emulate in stone.
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane
Had poured his impious rage in vain;
And needful was such strength to these,
Exposed to the tempestuous seas,
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway,
Open to rovers fierce as they,
Which could twelve hundred years withstand
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand.
Not but that portions of the pile,
Rebuilded in a later style,
Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ;
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint,
And mouldered in his niche the saint,
And rounded, with consuming power,
The pointed angles of each tower:
Yet still entire the Abbey stood,
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued.

Soon as they neared his turrets strong,
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song,

And with the sea-wave and the wind,

Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined,
And made harmonious close ;

Then, answering from the sandy shore,

Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar,
According chorus rose :
Down to the haven of the Isle,
The monks and nuns in order file,

From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ;
Banner, and cross, and reliques there,
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ;
And, as they caught the sounds on air,

They echoed back the hymn.
The islanders, in joyous mood,
Rushed emulously through the flood,

To hale the bark to land ;

CanloJJ.] MA.RMIOK. 101

Conspicuous by her veil and hood,
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood,
And blessed them with her hand.

Suppose we now the welcome said,
Suppose the Convent banquet made :

All through the holy dome,
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery,
"Wherever vestal maid might pry,
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye,

The stranger sisters roam :
Till fell the evening damp with dew,
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew,
For there, even summer night is chill
Then, having strayed and gazed their fill,

They closed around the tire ;
And all, in turn, essayed to paint
The rival merits of their saint,

A theme that ne'er can tire
A holy maid ; for, be it known,
That their saint's honour is their own.

Then Whitby's nuns exulting told.
How to their house three barons bold

Must menial service do ;
While horns blow out a note of shame,
And monks cry, " Fie upon your name !
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game,

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew."
" This, on Ascension-day, each year,
While labouring on our harbour pier,
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear."
They told, how in their convent cell
A Saxon princess once did dwell,

The lovely Edelfled;
A nd how, of thousand snakes, each one
Was changed into a coil of stone,

When holy Hilda prayed ;
Themselves, within their holy bound,
Their stony folds had often found.
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail,
As over Whitby's towers they sail,
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint,
They do their homage to the saint.

XIV.

Nor did St. Cuthbert's daughters fail,

To vie with these in holy tale;

1 1 is body's resting-place, of old,

How oft their patron changed, they told;

How, when the rude Dane burned their pile,

The monks fled forth from Holy Isle;

102 MARMION. [Canto II.

O'er northern mountain, marsB, and moor

From sea to sea, from shore to shore,

Seven years Saint Outhbert's corpse they bore.

They rested them in fair Melrose;
But though, alive, he loved it well,

Nor there his reliques might repose;
For, wondrous tale to tell !

In his stone-coffin forth he rides,

(A ponderous bark for river tides)

Yet light as gossamer it glides,
Downward to Tillmouth cell.
Nor long was his abiding there,
For southwai-d did the saint repair;
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw

Hailed him with joy and fear ;
And, after many wanderings past,
He chose his lordly seat at last,
Where his cathedral, huge and vast,

Looks down upon the Wear :
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade,
His reliques are in secret laid;

Eut none may know the place,
Save of his holiest servants three,
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy,

Who share that wondrous grace.

Who may his miracles declare !

Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir,

(Although with them they led
(Jalwegians, wild as ocean's gale,
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail,
And the bold men of Teviotdale,)

Before his standard fled.
'Twas he, to vindicate his reign,
Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane,
And turned the conqueror back again,
When, with his Norman bowyer band,
He came to waste Northumberland.

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn,
If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne,
Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame
The sea-born beads that bear his name:
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told,
And said they might his shape behold,

And hear his anvil sound:
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form.
Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm,

And night were closing round.
Brit this, as tale of idle fame,
The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim.

Canto IF] 3IAR3IION. 108

XVII.

While round the fire such legends go
Far different was the scene of woe,
Where, in a secret aisle beneath,
Council was held of life and death.

It was more dark and lone that vault,
Than the worst dungeon cell;

Old Colwulf built it, for his fault,
In penitence to dwell,
When he, for cowl and beads, laid down
The Saxon battle-axe and crown.
This den, which, chilling every sense

Of feeling, hearing, sight,
Was called the Vault of Penitence,

Excluding air and light,
Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made
A place of burial, for such dead
As, having died in mortal sin,
Might not be laid the church within.
'Twas now a place of punishment;
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent,

As reached the upper air,
The hearers blessed themselves, and sai 1,
The spirits of the sinful dead

Bemoaned their torments there.

XVIII.

But though, in the monastic pile,
Did of this penitential aisle

Some vague tradition go,
Few only, save the Abbot, knew
Where the place lay; and still more few
Were those, who had from him the clew

To that dread vault to go.
Victim and executioner
Were blind-fold when transported there.
In low dark rounds the arches hung,
From the rude rock the side- walls sprung;
The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er,
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore,
Were all the pavement of the floor;
The mildew drops fell one by one,
With tinkling plash, upon the stone.
A cresset,* in an iron chain,
Which served to light this drear domain.
With damp and darkness seemed to strive,
As if it scarce might keep alive;
And yet it dimly served to show
The awful conclave met below.

XIX.

There, met to doom in secrecy,

Were placed the heads of convents three:

* Antique Chandelier.

104 MABMION. {Canto II.

All servants of Saint Benedict,
The statutes of whose order strict

On iron table lay;
In long black dress, on seats of stone,
Behind were these three judges shown,

By the pale cresset's ray:
The Abbess of Saint Hilda, there,
Sate for a space with visage bare,
Until, to hide her bosom's swell,
And tear-drops that for pity fell,

She closely drew her veil:
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess,
By her proud mien and flowing dress,
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,

And she with awe looks pale:
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight
Has long been quenched by age's night,
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone,
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown,

Whose look is hard and stern, —
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style;
For sanctity called, through the isle,

The Saint of Lindisfarne.

Before them stood a guilty pair ;
But, though an equal fate they share,
Yet one alone deserves our care.
Her sex a page's dress belied;
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied,
Obscured her charms, but could not hide.

Her cap down o'er her face she drew ;
And, on her doublet breast,

She tried to hide the badge of blue,
Lord Marmion's falcon crest.
i?ut, at the Prioress' command,
A Monk undid the silken band,

That tied her tresses fair,
And raised the bonnet from her head,
And down her slender form they spread,

In ringlets rich and rare.
Constance de Beverley they know,
Sister professed of Fontevraud,
Whom the Church numbered with the dead,
For broken vows, and convent fled.

When thus her face was given to view,

(Although so pallid was her hue,

It did a ghastly contrast bear,

To those bright ringlets glistering fair,)

Her look composed, and steady eye,

Bespoke a matchless constancy;

And there she stood so calm and pale,

That, but her breathing did not fail,

Cento II. I MARMI02T. 10'

And motion slight of eye and head,
A nd of her bosom, warranted,
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You might have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, was there;
So still she was, so pale, so fair.

Her comraJe was a sordid soul,

Such as does murder for a meed;
Who, but of fear, knows no control,
Because his conscience, seared and foul,

Feels not the import of his deed;
One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires
Beyond his own more brute desires.
Such tools the tempter ever needs,
To do the savagest of deeds;
For them no visioned terrors daunt,
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt;
One fear with them, of all most base,
The fear of death, — alone finds place.
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl.
And shamed not loud to moan and howl,
His body on the floor to dash,
And crouch, like hound beneath the lash;
While his mute partner, standing near,
Waited her doom without a tear.

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek.
Well might her paleness terror speak !
For there were seen, in that dark wall,
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall; —
Who enters at such grisly door,
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more.
In each a slender meal was laid,
Of roots, of water, and of bread :
By each, in Benedictine dress,
Two haggard monks stood motionless;
Who, holding high a blazing torch,
Showed the grim entrance of the porch :
Keflecting back the smoky beam,
The dark-red walls and arches gleam.
Hewn stones and cement were displayed,
And building tools in order laid.

XXIV.

These executioners were chose,
As men who were with mankind foes,
And, with despite and envy fired,
Into the cloister had retired;

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,
Strove, by deep penance, to efface

Of some foul crime the stain;
For, as the vassals of her will,

106 MAllMION, [Canto II.

Such men the church selected still,

As either joyed in doing ill,
Or thought more grace to gain,
If, in her cause, they wrestled down
Feelings their nature strove to own.
By strange device were they brought there,
They knew not h^w, and knew not where.

And now that blind old Abbot rose,
To speak the Chapter's doom,

On those the wall was to enclose,
Alive, within the tomb;

But stopped, because that woeful maid,

Gathering her powers, to speak essayed.

Twice she essayed, and twice in vain;

Her accents might no utterance gain;

Nought but imperfect murmurs slip

From her convulsed and quivering lip
'Twixt each attempt all was so still,
You seemed to hear a distant rill —

'Twas ocean's swells and falls;
For though this vault of sin and fear
Was to the sounding surge so near,
A tempest there you scarce could hear,
So massive were the walls.

At length, an eifort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her heart,

And light came to her eye,
And colour dawned upon her cheek,
A hectic and a fluttered streak,
Like that left on the Cheviot peak

By autumn's stormy sky;
And when her silence broke at length,
Still as she spoke, she gathered strength,

And armed herself to bear.
It was a fearful sight to see
Such high resolve and constancy,

In form so soft and fair.

XXVII.

"I speak not to implore your grace;
Well know I, for one minute's space

Successless might I sue :
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ^
For if a death of lingering pain,
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain

Vain are your masses too. —
I listened to a traitor's tale,
I left the convent and the veil,
For three long years I bowed my pride,
A horse-boy in his train to ride;

Canto IT.} MAAMIOH. 107

And well my folly's meed lie gave,
Who forfeited, to be his slave,
All here, and all beyond the grave. —
He saw young Clara's face more fair,
He knew her of broad lands the heir,
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore,
And Constance was beloved no more. —

'Tis an old tale, and often told;
But, did my fate and wish agree,

Ne'er had been read, in story old,

Of maiden true betrayed for gold,
That loved, or was avenged, like me !

" The king approved his favourite's aim;
In vain a rival barred his claim,

Whose faith with Clare's was plight,
For he attaints that rival's fame
With treason's charge — and on they came,

In mortal lists to fight.
Their oaths are said,
Their prayers are prayed,
Their lances in the rest are laid,

They meet in mortal shock;
And hark ! the throng, with thundering cry,
Shout " Marmion, Marmion, to the sky !

De Wilton to the block ! "
Say ye, who preach heaven shall decide,
When in the lists two champions ride,

Say, was heaven's justice here 1
When, loyal in his love and faith,
Wilton found overthrow or death,

Beneath a traitor's spear.
How false the charge, how true he fell,
This guilty packet best can tell." —
Then drew a packet from her breast,
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest.

XXIX,

" Still was false Marmion's bridal stayed;
To Whitby's convent fled the maid,

The hated match to shun.
' Ho ! shifts she thus ] ' King Henry cried;
' Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride,

If she were swore a nun.'
One way remained — the king's command
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land;
I lingered here, and rescue planned

For Clara and for me :
This caitiff monk, for gold, did S-* ear,
He would to Whitby's shrine repair,
And, by his drugs, my rival fair

A saint in heaven should be.
But ill the dastard kept his oath.
Whose cowardice hath undone us both.

108 MARMION. [Canto II.

" And now my tongue the secret tells,
Not that remorse my bosom swells,
But to assure my soul, that none
Shall ever wed with Marmion.
Had fortune my last hope betrayed,
This packet, to the king conveyed,
Had given him to the headsman's stroke,
Although my heart that instant broke. —
Now, men of death, work forth your will,
For I can suffer, and be still;
And come he slow, or come he fast,
It is but Death who comes at last.

" Yet dread me, from my living tomb,
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome !
If Marmion 's late remorse should wake,
Full soon such vengeance will he take,
That you shall wish the fiery Dane
Had rather been your guest again.
Behind, a darker hour ascends !
The altars quake, the crozier bends,
The ire of a despotic king
Rides forth upon destruction's wing;
Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep,
Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep;
Some traveller then shall find my bones,
Whitening amid disjointed stones,
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty,
Marvel such relics here should be." —

Fixed was her look, and stern her air;
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair;
The locks, that wont her brow to shade,
Stared up erectly from her head;
Her figure seemed to rise more high;
Her voice, despair's wild energy
Had given a tone of prophecy.
Appalled the astonished conclave sate;
With stupid eyes, the men of fate
Gazed on the light inspired form,
And listened for the avenging storm;
The judges felt the victim's dread;
No hand was moved, no word was said,
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given,
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : —
" Sister, let thy sorrows cease;
Sinful brother, part in peace ! " —

From that dire dungeon, place of doom,

Of execution too, and tomb,
Paced forth the judges three;

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell

Cfa»<° II-} MARMION. 109

The butcher-work that there befell,
When they had glided from the cell
Of sin and misery.

An hundred winding steps convey
That conclave to the upper day;
But, ere they breathed the fresher air,
They heard the shriekings of despair,

And many a stifled groan :
With speed their upward way they take,
(Such speed as age and fear can make),
And crossed themselves for terror's sake,

As hurrying, tottering on :
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone,
They seemed to hear a dying groan.
And bade the passing knell to toll
For welfare of a parting soul.
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung,
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung,
To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled,
His bead3 the wakeful hermit told;
The Bamborough peasant raised his head.
But slept ere half a prayer he said;
So far was heard the mighty knell,
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell,
Spread his broad nostril to the wind,
Listed before, aside, behind;
Then couched him down beside the hind,
And quaked among the mountain fern,
To hear that sound so dull and stern.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD.

TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, Esq.

Ashestiel, Ettrkke Forssi

Like April morning clouds, that pass,
With varying shadow, o'er the grass,
And imitate, on field and furrow,
Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow ;
Like streamlet of the mountain north,
Now in a torrent racing forth,
Now winding slow its silver train,
And almost slumbering on the plain ;
Like breezes of the Autumn day,
Whose voice inconstant dies away,
And ever swells again as fast,
When the ear deems its murmur past ;
Thus various, my romantic theme
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream.

110

Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race;
Pleased, views the rivulet afar,
Weaving its maze irregular ;
And pleased, we listen as the breeze
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees ;
Then wild as cloud, or stream, or gale,
Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale.

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell,
I love the license all too well,
In sounds now lowly, and now strong,
To raise the desultory song 1 —
Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime,
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme,
To thy kind judgment seemed excuse
For many an error of the muse;
Oft hast thou said, " If still mis-spent,
Thine hours to poetry are lent,
Go, and to tame thy wandering course,
Quaff from the fountain at the source;
Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb
Immortal laurels ever bloom:
Instructive of the feebler bard,
Still from the grave their voice is heard ;
From them, and from the paths they showed,
Choose honoured guide and practised road ;
Nor ramble on through brake and maze,
With harpers rude of barbarous days.

" Or deem'st thou not our later time
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme!
Hast thou no elegiac verse
For Brunswick's venerable hearse ?
What! not a line, a tear, a sigh,
When valour bleeds for liberty 1 —
Oh, hero of that glorious time,
When, with unrivalled light sublime. —
Though martial Austria, and though all
The might of Russia, and the Gaul,
Though banded Europe stood her foes-
Tie star of Brandenburgh arose !
Thou could'st not live to see her beam
For ever quenched in Jena's stream.
Lamented chief ! — it was not given,
To thee to change the doom of heaven,
And crush that dragon in its birth,
Predestined scourge of guilty earth.
Lamented chief ! — not thine the power,
To save in that presumptuous hour,
When Prussia hurried to the field,
And snatched the spear, but left the shield;
Valour and skill 'twas thine to try,
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die.

Canto III.'] MAR5II0K. Ill

111 Lad it seemed thy silver hair
The last, the bitterest pang to share,
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven,
And birthrights to usurpers given ;
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel,
And witness woes thou could'st not heal !
On thee relenting heaven bestows
For honoured life an honoured close ;
And when revolves, in time's sure change,
The hour of Germany's revenge,
When, breathing fury for her sake,
Some new Arminius shall awake,
Jler champion, ere he strike, shall come
To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb.

•' Or of the Red-Cross hero teach,
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach :
Alike to him the sea, the shore,
The brand, the bridle, or the oar;
Alike to him the war that calls
Its votaries to the shattered walls,
Which the grim Turk, besmeared with blood,
Against the Invincible made good ;
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake
The silence of the polar lake,
When stubborn Euss, and metalled Swede,
On the warped wave their death-game played;
Or that, where vengeance and affright
Howled round the father of the fight,
Who snatched on Alexandria's sand
The conqueror's wreath with dying hand.

" Or, if to touch such chord be thiue,
Restore the ancient tragic line,
And emulate the notes that rung
From the wild harp which silent hung,
By silver Avon's holy shore,
'fill twice an hundred years rolled o'er ;
When she, the bold Enchantress, came,
With fearless hand and heart on flame !
From the pale willow snatched the treasure,
And swept it with a kindred measure,
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love,
Awakening at the inspired strain,
Deemed their own Shakespeare lived again." —

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging,
With praises not to me belonging,
In task more meet for mightiest powers,
Would'st thou engage my thriftless hours.
But i-ay, my Erskine, hast thou weighed
That secret power by ali obeyed,
Which warps not less the passhe mind,
Its source concealed or undefined;

112 MARJIION, [Inirod.

Whether an impulse, that has birth
Soon as the infant wakes on earth,
One with our feelings and our powers,
And rather part of us than ours ;
Or whether fitlier termed the sway
Of habit, formed in early day ?
Howe'er derived, its force confessed
Rules with despotic sway the breast,
And drags us on by viewless chain,
While taste and reason plead in vain.
Look east, and ask the Belgian why,
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky,
He seeks not eager to inhale
The freshness of the mountain gale,
Content to rear his whitened wall
Beside the dank and dull canal?
He'll say, from youth he loved to see
The white sail gliding by the tree.
Or see yon weather-beaten hind,
Whose sluggish herds before him wind,
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek
His northern clime and kindred speak ;
Through England's laughing meads he goes,
And England's wealth around him flows ;
Ask, if it would content him well,
At ease in these gay plains to dwell,
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen,
And spires and forests intervene,
And the neat cottage peeps between?
No ! not for these will he exchange
His dark Lochaber's boundless range,
Nor for fair Devon's meads forsake
Bennevis grey and Garry's lake.

Thus, while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charmed me yet a child,
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time ;
And feelings, roused in life's first day,
Glow in the iine, and prompt the lay.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.
Though no broad river swept along,
To claim, perchance, heroic song;
Though sighed no groves in summer gale,
To prompt of love a softer tale;
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed
Claimed homage from a shepherd 's>-reed
Yet was poetic impulse given,
By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
It was a barren scene, and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ;
But ever and anon between
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ;
And well the lonely infant knew

Canto ML] MAKM10N. 113

Recesses where the wall- flower grew,

And honey-suckle loved to crawl

Up the low crag and ruined wall.

I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade

The sun in all his round surveyed ;

And still I thought that shattered tower

The mightiest work of human power ;

And marvelled, as the aged hind

With some strange tale bewitched my mind.

Of forayers, who, with headlong force,

Down from that strength had spurred their horse,

Their southern rapine to renew,

Far in the distant Cheviots blue,

And, home returning, filled the hall

With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. —

Methought that still with trump and clang

The gate-way's broken arches rang ;

Methought grim features, seamed with scats,

Glared through the window's rusty bars.

And ever, by the winter hearth,

Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,

Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms.

Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ;

Of patriot battles, won of old

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;

Of later fields of feud and fight,

When, pouring from their Highland height.

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,

Had swept the scarlet ranks away.

While stretched at length upon the floor,

Again I fought each combat o'er,

Pebbles and shells, in order laid,

The mimic ranks of war displayed;

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,

And still the scattered Southron fled before.

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,

Anew, each kind familiar face,

That brightened at our evening fire ;

From the thatched mansion's grey-haired Sire,

Wise without learning, plain and good,

And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ;

Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen,

Showed what in youth its glance had been ;

Whose doom discording neighbours sought,

Content with equity unbought :

To him the venerable Priest,

Our frequent and familiar guest,

Whose life and manners well could paint

Alike the student and the saint ;

Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke

With gambol rude and timeless joke :

For I was wayward, bold, and wild,

A self-willed imp, a grandame's child,

Hut half a plague, and half a jest,

Was still endured, beloved, caressed.

8

114 MARMION. [Canto III,

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask
The classic poet's well-conned task ?
Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill
Let the wild heathbell flourish still;
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,
But freely let the woodbine twine,
And leave untrimmed the eglantine :
Nay, my friend, nay — since oft thy praise
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays,
Since oft thy judgment could refine
My flattened thought, or cumbrous line,
Still kind,as is thy wont, attend,
And in the minstrel spare the friend,
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale,
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale 1

CANTO THIED.

THE HOSTEL, OK INN.
I.

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode :
The mountain path the Palmer showed ;
By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill.
They might not choose the lowland road,
For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely failed to bar their way.
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down;
On wing of jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow ;
And when the stony path began,
By which the naked peak they wan,
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.
The noon had long been passed, before
They gained the height of Lammermoor ;
Thence winding down the northern way,
Before them, at the close of day,
Old Gilford's towers and hamlet lay.

No summons calls them to the tower,

To spend the hospitable hour.

To Scotland's camp the lord was gone ;

His cautious dame, in bower alone,

Dreaded her castle to unclose,

So late, to unknown friends or foes.
On through the hamlet as they paced,
Before a porch, whose front was graced

Canto III.} MARMION. 115

With bush and flagon trimly placed,
Lord Marmiou drew his rein :

The village inn seemed large, though rude ;

Its cheerful fire and hearty food
Might well relieve his train.
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung,
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung;
They bind their horses to the stall,
For forage, food, and firing call,
And various clamour fills the hall ;
Weighing the labour with the cost,
Toils everywhere the bustling host.

Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze,
Through the rude hostel might you gaze;
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof,
The rafters of the sooty roof,

Bore wealth of winter cheer ;
Of sea-fowl dried and solands store,
And gammons of the tusky boar,

And savoury haunch of deer.
The chimney arch projected wide;
Above, around it, and beside,

Were tools for housewives' hand :
Nor wanted, in that martial day,
The implements of Scottish fray,

The buckler, lance, and brand.
Beneath its shade, the place of state,
On oaken settle Marmion sate,
And viewed, around the blazing hearth,
His followers mix in noisy mirth;
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide,
From ancient vessels ranged aside,
Full actively their host supplied.

Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
And laughter theirs at little jest;
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid,
And mingle in the mirth they made :
For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art.
To win the soldier's hardy heart.
They love a captain to obey,
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;
With open hand, and brow as free,
Lover of wine, and minstrelsy;
Ever the first to scale a tower,
As venturous in a lady's bower :
Such buxom chief shall lead his host
From India's fires to Zembla's frost.

116 MARMION. [Canto III.

Resting upon his pilgrim staff,

Right opposite the Palmer stood;
Eis thin dark visage seen but half,

Half hidden by his hood.
Still fixed on Marmion was his look,
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook,

Strove by a frown to quell;
But not for that, though more than once
Full met their stern encountering glance,

The Palmer's visage fell.

By fits less frequent from the crowd
Was heard the burst of laughter loud ;
For still, as squire and archer stared
On that dark face and matted beard,

Their glee and game declined.
All gazed at length in silence drear,
Uubroke, save when in comrade's ear
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear,

Thus whispered forth his mind : —
" Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ]
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright,
Whene'er the fire-brand's fickle light

Glances beneath his cowl !
Full on our lord he sets his eye ;
For his best palfrey would not I

Endure that sullen scowl."—

But Marmion, as to chase the awe

Which thus had quelled their hearts, who sa^v

The ever-varying fire-light show

That figure stern, and face of woe,

Now called upon a squire : —
" Fitz- Eustace, know'st thou not some lay,
To speed the lingering night away 1

We slumber by the fire." —

" So please you," thus the youth rejoined,
" Our choicest minstrel's left behind.
Ill may we hope to please your ear,
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear.
The harp full deftly can he sti-ike,
And wake the lover's lute alike ;
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush ;
No nightingale her love-lorn tune
More sweetly warbles to the moon.
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be,
Detains from us his melody,

Cento TTl.] MAHMIOX. 1 1 7

Lavished on rocks, and billows stern,
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne.
Now must I venture, as I may,
To sing his favourite roundelay." —

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had,
The air he chose was wild and sad ;
Such have I heard, in Scottish land,
Lise from the busy harvest band,
When falls before the mountaineer,
On lowland plains, the ripened ear.
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song :
Oft have I listened, and stood still,
As it came softened up the hill,
And deemed it the lament of men
Who languished for their native glen ;
And thought how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehana's swampy ground,
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake,
Or wild Ontario'3 boundless lake,
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain,
Eecalled fair Scotland's hills again!

§&rmg.

Where shall the lover rest,

Whom the Fates sever,
From his true maiden's breast

Parted for ever ?
Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving ;
There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,
Never again to wake, —

Never, 0 never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, 0 nev;:r.

XI.

Where shall the traitor rest,
lie, the deceiver,

118 MARMIOtf. [Canto 111

Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle,

With groans of the dying.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted ;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever ;
Blessing shall hallow it, —

Never, 0 never.

CHORUS.

Eleu loro, &c. Never, 0 never.

It ceased, the melancholy sound ;
And silence sunk on all around.
The air was sad ; but sadder still

It fell on Marmion's ear,
And plained as if disgrace and ill,
And shameful death were near.
He drew his mantle past his face,

Between it and the band,
And rested with his head a space,
Reclining on his hand.
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween,
That, could their import have been seen,
The meanest groom in all the hall,
That e'er tied courser to a stall,
Would scarce have wished to be their prey,
For Lutterward and Fontenaye.

High minds, of native pride and force,
Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse !
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have,
Thou art the torturer of the brave !
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel ;
Even while they writhe beneath the smart
Of civil conflict in the heart.
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head,
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said: —
" Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung,
Such as in nunneries they toll
For some departing sister's soul J

Canto ///.j makmion. 119

Say, what may this portend 1 " —
Then first tbe Palmer silence broke,
(The live-long day he had not spoke,)

" The death of a dear friend. '

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye
Ne'er changed in worst extremity;
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook,
Even from his king, a haughty look ;
Whose accent of command controlled,
In camps, the boldest of the bold —
Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now,
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow :

For either in the tone,
Or something in tbe Palmer's look,
So full upon his conscience strook,

That answer he found none.
Thus oft it haps, that when within
They shrink at sense of secret sin,

A feather daunts the brave;
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise,
And proudest princes veil their eyes

Before their meanest slave.

Well might he falter ! — by his aid

Was Constance Beverley betrayed;

Not that he augured of the doom,

Which on the living closed the tomb;

But, tired to hear the desperate maid

Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ;

And wroth, because, in wild despair,

She practised on the life of Clare;

Its fugitive the church he gave,

Though not a victim, but a slave;

And deemed restraint in convent strange,

Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge.

Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer,

Held Romish thunders idle fear,

Secure his pardon he might hold,

For some slight mulct of penance-gold.

Thus judging, he gave secret way,

When the stern priests surprised their pre),

His tiain but deemed the favourite page

Was left behind, to spare his age;

Or other if they deemed, none dared

To mutter what he thought and heard:

Woe to the vassal, who durst pry

Into Lord Marmion 's privacy !

His conscience slept — he deemed her well,
And safe secured in distant cell ;

120 MAKMIOX. [Canto III.

13 ut, wakened by her favourite lay,
And that strange Palmer's boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear,
Full on the object of his fear,
To aid remorse's venomed throes,
Dark tales of convent vengeance rose;
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned,
All lovely on his soul returned :
Lovely as when, at treacherous call,
She left her convent's peaceful wall,
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute,
Dreading alike escape, pursuit,
Till love, victorious o'er alarms,
Hid fears and blushes in his arms.

" Alas ! " he thought, "how changed that mien I

How changed these timid looks have been,

Since years of guilt, and of disguise,

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes !

No more of virgin terror speaks

The blood that mantles in her cheeks ;

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there,

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ;

And I the cause — for whom were given

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! —

Would," thought he, as the picture grows,

" I on its stalk had left the rose !

Oh, why should man's success remove

The very charms that wake his love ! —

Her convent's peaceful solitude

Is now a prison harsh and rude ;

And, pent within the narrow cell,

How will her spirit chafe and swell !

How brook the stern monastic laws !

The penance how — and I the cause !

Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse ! " —

And twice he rose to cry, " To horse ! "

And twice his sovereign's mandate came,

Like damp upon a kindling flame :

And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge

She should be safe, though not at large ]

They durst not, for their island, shred

One golden ringlet from her head." —

While thus in Marmion's bosom strove

Repentance and reviving love,

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway

I've seen Loch Vennachar obey,

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard,

And, talkative, took up the word : —
" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray
From Scotland's simple land away,
To visit realms afar,

Canto III."] MARMION. 1^1

Full often learn the art to know,

Of future weal, or future woe,
By word, or sign, or star ;
Yet might a knight his fortune hear,
1 f, knight-like, he despises fear,
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old
Aright our hamlet legend told." —
These broken words the menials move,
(For marvels still the vulgar love ;)
And Marmion giving license cold,
ills tale the host thus gladly told.

%\t post's STale.

" A clerk could tell what years have flcwr.

Since Alexander filled our throne,

(Third monarch of that warlike name,)

And eke the time when here he came

To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord :

A braver never drew a sword ;

A wiser never, at the hour

Of midnight, spoke the word of power ;

The same, whom ancient records call

The founder of the Goblin-Hall.

I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay

Gave you that cavern to survey.

Of lofty roof, and ample size,

Beneath the castle deep it lies :

To hew the living rock profound,

Tbe floor to pave, the arch to round,

There never toiled a mortal arm, —

It all was wrought by word and charm ;

And I have heard my grandsire say,

That the wild clamour and affray

Of those dread artisans of hell,

Who laboured under Hugo's spell,

Sounded as loud as ocean's war,

A mong the caverns of Dunbar.

" The king Lord Gifford's castle sought,
Deep labouring with uncertain thought ;
Even then he mustered all his host,
To meet upon the western coast ;
For Norse and Danish galleys plied
Their oars within the firth of Clyde.
There floated Haco's banner trim,
Above Norweyan warriors grim,
Savage of heart, and large of limb ;
Threatening both continent and isle,
Jiute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexander's bugle sound,

122 MARMION. [Canto III

And tarried not bis garb to change,

But, in his wizard habit strange,

Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight !

His mantle lined with fox-skins white ;

His high and wrinkled forehead bore

A pointed cap, such as of yore

Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore;

His shoes were marked with cross and spell ;

Upon his breast a pentacle ;

His zone, of virgin parchment thin,

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin,

Bore many a planetary sign,

Combust, and retrograde, and trine ;

And in his hand he held prepared,

A naked sword without a guard.

"Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had marked strange lines upon his face ;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim,
As one unused to upper day ;
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire,
In this unwonted wild attire ; —
Unwonted, for traditions run,
He seldom thus beheld the sun.
"I know," he said, — his voice was hoarse,
And broken seemed its hollow force,—
"I know the cause, although untold,
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold :
Vainly from me my liege would know
His kingdom's future weal or woe ;
But yet. if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.

" Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud,
Can read, in fixed or wandering star,
The issue of events afar ;
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controlled.
Such late I summoned to my hall ;
And though so potent was the call,
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deemed a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill.
But thou, — who little know'st thy might,
As born upon that blessed night,
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, —
With untaught valour shalt compel
Response denied to magic spell." —

Canto III.} MARMION. 123

" Gramercy," quotli our monarch free,

" Place him hut front to front with me,

And, hy this good and honoured brand,

The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand,

Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,

The demon shall a buffet bide." —

His bearing bold the wizard viewed,

And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed. — -

" There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark :

Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark,

The rampart seek, whose circling crown

Crests the ascent of yonder down :

A southern entrance shalt thou find ;

There halt, and there thy bugle wind,

And trust thine elfin foe to see,

In guise of thy worst enemy :

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed—

Upon him ! and Saint George to speed !

If he go down, thou soon shalt know

Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; —

If thy heart fail thee in the strife,

I am no warrant for thy life."

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring,

Alone, and armed, rode forth the king

To that old camp's deserted round : —

Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound,

Left hand the town, — the Pictish race

The trench, long since, in blood did trace ;

The moor around is brown and bare,

The space within is green and fair:

The spot our village children know,

For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ;

But woe betide the wandering wight

That treads its circle in the night !

The breadth across, a bowshot clear,

Gives ample space for full career;

Opposed to the four points of heaven.

By four deep gaps are entrance given.

The southernmost our monarch passed,

Halted, and blew a gallant blast;

And on the north, within the ring,

Appeared the form of England's king ;

Who then, a thousand leagues afar,

In Palestine waged holy war :

Yet arms like England's did he wield,

Alike the leopards in the shield,

Alike his Syrian courser's frame,

The rider's length of limb the same ;

Long afterwards did Scotland know,

Fell Edward* was her deadliest foe.

* Edward I., surnamed Longshanki

124 MARMTOX. [Canto 111.

" The vision made our monarch start,
But soon he manned his noble heart,
And in the first career they ran,
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man;
Yet did a splinter of his lance
Through Alexander's visor glance,
And razed the skin — a puny wound.
The king, light leaping to the ground,
With naked blade his phantom foe
Compelled the future war to show.
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain,
Where still gigantic bones remain,

Memorial of the Danish war;
Himself he saw, amid the field,
On high his brandished war-axe wield,
And strike proud Haco from his car,
While, all around the shadowy kings,
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their
wings.
'Tis said, that, in that awful night,
Remoter visions met his sight,
Fore-showing future conquests far,
When our sons' sons wage northern war;
A royal city, tower and spire,
Reddened the midnight sky with fire ;
And shouting crews her navy bore,
Triumphant, to the victor shore.
Such signs may learned clerks explain,
They pass the wit of simple swain.

" The joyfui king turned home again,
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane;
But yearly, when returned the night
Of his strange combat with the sprite,

His wound must bleed and smart;
Lord Gifford then would gibing say,
"Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay

The penance of your start."
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave,
King Alexander fills his grave,

Our Lady give him rest!
Yet still the mighty spear and shield
The elfin warrior doth wield,

Upon the brown hill's breast;
An:! many a knight hath proved his chance,
In the charmed ring to break a lance,

But all have foully sped;
Save two, as legends tell, and they
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. —

Gentles, my tale is' said." —

Canto J/J.']

The quaighs* were deep, the liquor
And on the tale the yeoman throng
Had made a comment sage and long,

But Marmion gave a sign;
And, with their lord, the squires retire ;
The rest, arouud the hostel fire,
Their drowsy limbs recline;
For pillow, underneath each head,
The quiver and the targe were laid:
Deep slumbering on the hostel lloor,
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore :
The dying flame, in fitful change,
Threw on the group its shadows strange.

Apart, and nestling in the bay
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ;
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, was seen
The foldings of his mantle green:
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream,
Of sport by thicket, or by stream,
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove,
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love.
A cautious tread bis slumber broke.
And, close beside him, when he woke,
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom,
Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ;
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew,
His master ilarmion's voice he knew.

— " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest ;
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast,
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood ;
The air must cool my feverish blood ;
And fain would I ride forth, to see,
The scene of elfin chivalry.
Arise, and saddle me my steed ;
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves;
I would not, that the prating knave3
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale,
That I could credit such a tale."—
Then softly down the steps they slid,
Eustace the stable door undid,
And, darkling, Ilarmion's steed arrayed,
While, whispering, thus the Baron Baal: —

" Did'st never, good my youth, bear tell,
That on the night when I was born,

* A wooden cap, composed of stavc3 put together.

ICanlo III

St. George, who graced my sire's chapelle,
Down from his steed of marble fell,

A weary wight forlorn ?
The flattering chaplains all agree,
The champion left his steed to me.
I would, the omen's truth to show,
That I could meet this Elfin Foe!
Blithe would I battle, for the right
To ask one question at the sprite : —
Vain thought! for elves, if elves there be,
An empty race, by fount or sea,
To clashing waters dance and sing,
Or round the green oak wheel their ring."
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode,
And from the hostel slowly rode.

Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad,
And marked him pace the village road,

And listened to his horse's tramp,
Till, by the lessening sound,

He judged that of the Pictish camp

' Lord Marmion sought the round.
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyea,
That one, so wary held, and wise, —
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received
For gospel, what the church believed, —

Should, stirred by an idle tale,
Ride forth in silence of the night,
As hoping half to meet a sprite,

Arrayed in plate and mail.
For little did Fitz-Eustace know,
That passions, in contending flow,

Unfix the strongest mind ;
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee,
We welcome fond credulity,

Guide confident, though blind.

XXXI.

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared,
But, patient, waited till he heard,
At distance, pricked to utmost speed,
The foot-tramp of a flying steed,
Come town- ward rushing on :
First, dead, as if on turf it trode,
Then, clattering on the village road, —
In other pace than forth he yode *
Returned Lord Marmion.
Down hastily he sprung from selle.
And, in his haste, well-nigh he fell ;
To the squire's hand the rein he threw,
And spoke no word as he withdrew :

Used by old poets for went.

Canto III.] MAKMION. Ii7

But yet the moonlight did betray,
Tbe falcon crest was soiled with clay;
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see,
By stains upon the charger's knee,
And his left side, that on the moor
He had not kept his footing sure.
Long musing on these wond'rous signs,
At length to rest the squire reclines,
Broken and short ; for still, between,
Would dreams of terror intervene:
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark
The first notes of the morning lark.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH.

TO JAMES SKENE, Esq.

AshestkJ, Ettricke Forest,
An ancient minstrel sagely said,
" Where is the life which late we led V —
That motely clown, in Arden wood,
Whom humorous Jacques with envy viewed,
Not even that clown could amplify,
On this trite text, so long as I.
Eleven years we now may tell,
Since we have known each other well ;
Since, riding side by side, our hand
First drew the voluntary brand;
And sure, through many a varied scene,
Unkindness never came between.
Away these winged years have flown,
To join the mass of ages g-one ; '
And though deep marked, like all below,
With chequered shades of joy and woe;
Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged,
Marked cities lost and empires changed,
While here, at home, my narrower ken
Somewhat of manners saw, and men ;
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears,
Fevered the progress of these years,
Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem
The recollection of a dream ;
So still we glide down to the sea
Of fathomless eternity.

Even now it scarcely seems a day,
Since first I tuned this idle lay ;
A task so often thrown aside,
When leisure graver cares denied ,
That now, November's dreary gale,
Whose voice inspired my opening tale,

128 MARMIOX [Intivd.

That same November gale once more-
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow's shore ;
Their vexed boughs streaming to the sky,
Once more our naked birches sigh ;
And Blackhouse heights, and Ettricke Pen5
Have donned their wintry shrouds again ;
And mountain dark, and flooded mead,
Bids us forsake the banks of Tweed.
Earlier than wont along the sky,
Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly :
The shepherd, who, in summer sun,
Has something of our envy won,
As thou with pencil, I with pen,
The features traced of hill and glen ;
He who, outstretched, the livelong day,
At ease among the heath-flowers lay ;
Viewed the light clouds with vacant look.
Or slumbered o'er his tattered book,
Or idly busied him to guide '

His angle o'er the lessened tide ; —
At midnight now, the snowy plain
Finds sterner labour for the swain.

"When red hath set the beamless sun,
Through heavy vapours dank and dun;
When the tired ploughman, dry and

warm,
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain,
Against the casement's tinkling pane ;
The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox.
To shelter in the brake and rocks,
Are warnings which the shepherd ask
To dismal, and to dangerous task.
Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain,
The blast may sink in mellowing rain;
Till, dark above, and white below,
Decided drives the flaky snow,
And forth the hardy swain must go.
Long, with dejected look and whine,
To leave the hearth his dogs repine;
Whistling and cheering them to aid,
Around his back he wreathes the plaid :
His flock he gathers, and he_ guides
To open downs, and mountain sides,
Where fiercest though the tempest blow,
Least deeply lies the drift below.
The blast, that whistles o'er the fells,
Stiffens his locks to icicles;
Oft he looks back, while streaming far.
His cottage window seems a star,
Loses its feeble gleam, and then
Turns patient to the blast again,
And, facing to the tempest's sweep,
Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep :

Canto IV.] MARMION. 129

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail,
Benumbing death is in the gale;
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown,
Close to the hut, no more his own,
Close to the aid he sought in rain,
The morn may find the stiffened swain :
His widow sees, at dawning pale,
His orphans raise their feeble wail ;
And, close beside him, in the snow,
Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe,
Couches upon his master's breast,
And licks his cheek, to break his rest.

Who envies now the shepherd's lot,
His healthy fare, his rural cot,
His summer couch by greenwood tree,
His rustic kirn's * loud revelry,
His native hill-notes, tuned on high,
To Marion of the blythesome eye ;
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed,
And all Arcadia's golden creed 1

Changes not bo with U3, my Skene,
Of human life the varying scene ?
Our youthful summer oft we see
Dance by on wings of game and glee,
While the dark storm reserves its rage,
Against the winter of our age :
As he, the ancient chief of Troy,
His manhood spent in peace and joy;
But Grecian fires, and loud alarms,
Called ancient Priam forth to arms.
Then happy those,— since each must drain
His share of pleasure, share of pain, —
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven,
To whom the mingled cup is given ;
Whose lenient sorrows find relief,
Whose joys are chastened by their grief.
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine,
When thou of late wert doomed to twine, —
Just when thy bridal hour was by, —
The cypress with the myrtle tie;
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled,
And blessed the union of his child,
When love must change its joyous cheer,
And wipe affection's filial tear.
Nor did the actions, next his end,
Speak more the father than the friend :
Scarce bad lamented Forbes paid
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade;
The tale of friendship scarce was told,
Ere the narrator's heart was cold.

'The Scottish harvest-home.

9

130 MARMION. [Inliod

Far may we search before we find
A heart so manly and so kind.
But not around his honoured urn,
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ;
The thousand eyes his care had dried,
Pour at his name a bitter tide ;
And frequent falls the grateful dew,
For benefits the world ne'er knew.
If mortal charity dare claim
The Almighty's attributed name,
Inscribe above his mouldering clay,
" The widow's shield, the orphan's stay. "
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ;
For sacred was the pen that wrote,
" Thy father's friend forget thou not : "
And grateful title may I plead,
For many a kindly word and deed,
To bring my tribute to his grave : —
'Tis little — but 'tis all I have.

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain
Recalls our summer walks again ;
When doing nought, — and, to speak true,
Not anxious to find aught to do, —
The wild unbounded hills we ranged,
While oft our talk its topic changed,
And desultory, as our way,
Ranged unconfined from grave to gay.
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance,
No effort made to break its trance,
We could right pleasantly pursue
Our sports in social silence too.
Thou gravely labouring to portray
The blighted oak's fantastic spray;
I spelling o'er, with much delight,
The legend of that antique knight,
Tirante by name, ycleped the White.
At either's feet a trusty squire,
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire,
Jealous, each other's motions viewed,
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud.
The laverock whistled from the cloud ;
The stream was lively, but not loud ;
From the white-thorn the May-flower shed
Its dewy fragrance round our head :
Not Ariel lived more merrily
Under the blossomed bough, than we.

And blithesome nights, too, have been ours,
When Winter stripped the summer's bowers ;
Careless we heard, what now I hear,
The wild blast sighing deep and drear,
When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay,
And ladies tuned the lovely lay;

Canto IV.] MARMION. 131

And he was held a laggard soul,
Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl.
Then he, whose absence we deplore,
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore,
The longer missed, bewailed the more ;

And thou, and I, and dear-loved B, ,

And one whose name I may not say, —

For not Mimosa's tender tree

Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, —

In merry chorus well combined,

With laughter drowned the whistling wind.

Mirth was within ; and Care without

Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout.

Not but amid the buxom scene

Some grave discourse might intervene —

Of the good horse that bore him best,

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest :

For, like mad Tom's,* our chiefest care,

Was horse to ride, and weapon wear.

Such nights we've had ; and, though the game

Of manhood be more sober tame,

And though the field-day, or the drill,

Seem less important now — yet still

Such may we hope to share again.

The sprightly thought inspires my strain ;

And mark, how like a horseman true,

Lord Marmion's march I thus renew.

CANTO FOURTH.

Eustace, I said, did blithely mark
The first notes of the merry lark.
The lark sung shrill, the cock he crew,
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew,
And, with their light and lively call,
Brought groom and yeomen to the stall.

Whistling they came, and free of heart ;
But soon their mood was changed :

Complaint was heard on every part,
Of something disarranged.
Some clamoured loud for armour lost ;
Some brawled and wrangled with the host ;
" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear,
That some false Scot has stolen my spear ! " —
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire,
Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ;
Although the rated horse-boy sware,
Last night he dressed him sleek and fair.

* See " King Leat"

132 MARMION. [Canto IV.

While chafed the impatient squire like thunder,

Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, —

" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all !

Bevis lies dying in his stall :

To Marmion who the plight dare tell,

Of the good steed he loves so well ] " —

Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw

The charger panting on his straw;

Till one, who would seem wisest, cried,—

" What else but evil could betide,

With that cursed Palmer for our guide ?

Better we had through mire and bush

Been lanthorn-led by Friar Rush. " *

Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed,

Nor wholly understood,
His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed;

He knew Lord Marmion's mood.
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought,
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought,

And did his tale display
Simply, as if he knew of nought

To cause such disarray.
Lord Marmion gave attention cold,
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, —
Passed them as accidents of course,
And bade his clarions sound to horse.

Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost
Had reckoned with their Scottish host;
And, as the charge he cast and paid,
" 111 thou deserv'st thy hire," he said;
" Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight?
Fairies have ridden him all the night,

And left him in a foam !
I trust, that soon a conjuring band,
With English cross and blazing brand,
Shall drive the devils from this land,

To their infernal home :
For in this haunted den, I trow,
All night they trampled to and fro. " —
The laughing host looked on the hire, —
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire,
And if thou com'st among the rest,
With Scottish broad-sword to be blest,
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow,
And short the pang to undergo. " —
Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion
Gave now the signal to set on.
The Palmer showing forth the way,
They journeyed all the morning day.

* Alias Will o' the Wisp. See Note.

CurMir.} KAEMIOS. 133

The green-sward tot -was smooth and good,

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood;

A forest glade, which, varying still,

Here gave a view of dale and hill;

There narrower closed, till over head

A vaulted screen the branches made.

" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said;

" Such a3 where errant knights might sea

Adventures of high chivalry;

Might meet some damsel flying fast,

With hair unbound, and looks aghast;

And smooth and level course were here,

In her defence to break a spear.

Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells;

And oft, in such, the story tells,

The damsel kind, from danger freed,

Did grateful pay her champion's meed."

He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind;

Perchance to show his lore design.
For Eustace much had pored

Upon a huge romantic tome,

In the hall-window of his home,

Imprinted at the antique dome
Of Caxton, or De \S orde.
Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain,
For Marmion answered nought again.

Now sudden distant trumpets shrill,
In notes prolonged by wood and hill,

Were heard to echo far;
Each ready archer grasped his bow,
liut by the flourish soon they know,

They breathed no point of war.
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land,
Lord Mannion's order speeds the ban J,

Some opener ground to gain;
And scarce a furlong had they rode,
When thinner trees, receding, showed

A little woodland plain.
Just in that advantageous glade,
The halting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade

Issued a gallant train.

First came the trumpets, at whose clang
So late the forest echoes rang;
On prancing steeds they forward pressed,
With scarlet mantle, azure vest;
Each at his trump a banner wore,
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore:

134 MARMION. [Canto IV.

Heralds and pursuivants, by name
Bute, Islay, Marchmont, Rothesay, came,
In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing,
Attendant on a King-at-arms,
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held,
That feudal strife had often quelled,
When wildest its alarms.

He was a man of middle age;
In aspect manly, grave, and sage,

As on king's errand come;
But in the glances of his eye,
A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home;
The flash of that satiric rage,
Which, bursting on the early stage,
Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced

With the proud heron-plume.
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast,

Silk housings swept the ground,
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest,

Embroidered round and round.
The double tressure might you see,

First by Achaius borne,
The thistle, and the fleur-de-lis,

And gallant unicorn.
So bright the king's armorial coat,
That scarce the dazzled eye could note,
In living colours blazoned brave,
The Lion, which his title gave.
A train, which well beseemed his state,
But all unarmed, around him wait.

Still is thy name in high account,
And still thy verse has charms,

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,
Lord Lion King-at-arms 1

Down from his horse did Marmion spring
Soon as he saw the Lion-King,
For well the stately Baron knew,
To him such courtesy was due,
Whom royal James himself had crowned,
And on his temples placed the round

Of Scotland's ancient diadem;

And wet his brow with hallowed wine,

And on his finger given to shine

The emblematic gem.

Their mutual greetings duly made,

The Lion thus his message said:—

Canto IV.] MAKMIOX. 135

" Though Scotland's King bath deeply swore,

Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more,

And strictly hath forbid resort

From England to his royal court,

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name,

And honours much bis warlike fame,

My liege bath deemed it sbame, and lack

Of courtesy, to turn him back;

And, by his order, I, your guide,

Must lodging tit and fair provide,

Till finds King James meet time to see

The flower of English chivalry." —

Though inly chafed at this delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he may.
The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,

Sought to take leave in vain :
Strict was the Lion-King's command,
That none, who rode in Marmion's band,

Should sever from the train:
" England has here enow of spies
In Lady Heron's witching eyes; "
To Marchmont thus, apart, he said,
But fair pretext to Marmion made.
The right-hand path they now decline,
And trace against the stream the Tyne.

At length up that wild dale they wind,

Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank;
For there the Lion's care assigned

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank.
That Castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne;
And far beneath, where slow they creep
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.
The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture showB

The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,

The vengeful Douglas bands.

xr.

Crichtoun ! though now tby miry court
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,
Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep,

Have been the minstrel's loved resort.

Oft have I traced within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,
Scutcheons of honour, or pretence,

]_36 MARMION. [Canto IV.

Quartered in old armorial sort.

Remains of rude magnificence:
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,

Adorn thy ruined stair.
Still rises unimpaired, below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show

Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,

To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,

Where oft whilome were captives pent,
The darkness of thy Massy-More;*

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement,
May trace, in undulating line,
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

Another aspect Crichtoun showed,

As through its portal Marmion rode;

But yet 'twas melancholy state

Received him at the outer gate;

For none were in the castle then,

But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame,

To welcome noble Marmion, came;

Her son, a stripling twelve years old,

Proflfered the Baron's rein to hold;

For each man, that could draw a sword,

Had marched that morning with their lord,

Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died

On Flodden, by his sovereign's side.

Long may his Lady look in vain !

She ne'er shall see his gallant train

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun

Dean.
'Twas a brave race, before the name
Of hated Bothwell stained their fame.

And here two days did Marmion rest
With every rite that honour claims,
Attended as the king's own guest, —
Such the command of royal James ;
Who marshalled then his land's array,
Upon the Boroughmoor that lay.
Perchance he would not foeman's eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,

The pit, or prison-vault.

Canto IV.] MAHMION. 137

Till fall prepared was every band

To march against the English land.

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit

Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ;

And, in his turn, he knew to prize

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise, — -

Trained in the lore of Rome, and Greece,

And policies of war and peace.

It chanced, as fell the second night,

That on the battlements they walked,
And, by the slowly fading light,

Of varying topics talked ;
And, unaware, the Herald-bard
Said, Marmion might his toil have spared,

In travelling so far ;
For that a messenger from heaven
In vain to James had counsel given

Against the English war :
And, closer questioned, thus he told
A tale, which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enrolled : —

Sir gahft Ipinbtsag's Eslt.

" Of all the palaces so fair,
Built for the royal dwelling,

In Scotland, far beyond compare
Linlithgow is excelling ;
And in its park, in jovial June,
How sweet the merry linnets tune,

How blithe the blackbird's lay !
The wild buck bells* from ferny brake,
The coot dives merry on the lake,
The saddest heart might pleasure take

To see all nature gay.
But June is to our Sovereign dear
The heaviest month in all the year :
Too well his cause of grief you know, —
June saw his father's overthrow.
Woe to the traitors, who could bring
The princely boy against his King !
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,
King James's June is ever spent.

XVI.

" When last this ruthful month was come,
And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying ;
While, for his royal father's soul,

* An ancient word for the cry of deer.

138 MARMION. [Canto 17

The chanters sung, the bells did toll,

The Bishop mass was saying —
For now the year brought round again
The day the luckless king was slain —

In Katherine's aisle the Monarch knelt,

With sackloth shirt, and iron belt,
And eyes with sorrow streaming ;

Around him, in their stalls of state,

The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate,
Their banners o'er them beaming.
I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafened with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,

Through the stained casement gleaming ;
But while I marked what next befell,

It seemed as I were dreaming.
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white ;
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down hung at length his yellow hair. —
Now mock me not, when, good my Lord,
I pledge to you my knightly word,
That, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn bearing, and his pace

So stately gliding on, —
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,
Who propped the Virgin in her faint, — "

The loved Apostle John.

" He stepped before the Monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,

And little reverence made :
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,
In a low voice, — but never tone
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone

' My mother sent me from afar,

Sir King, to warn thee not to wai1, —
Woe waits on thine array ;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware :

God keep thee as he may !' —
The wondering Monarch seemed to seek

For answer, and found none ;
And when he raised his head to speak,

The monitor was gone.
The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward passed ;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,

He vanished from our eyes,

Cento IV.] MAUMION. 139

Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies." —

While Lindesay told this marvel strange,

The twilight was so pale,
He marked not Marmion's colour change,

While listening to the tale :
But, after a suspended pause,
The Baron spoke : — " Of Nature's laws

So strong I held the force,
That never super-human cause

Could e'er control their course ;
And, three days since, had judged your aim
Was but to make your guest your game.
But I have seen, since past the Tweed,
What much has changed my sceptic creed,
And made me credit aught." — He staid,
And seemed to wish his words unsaid :

But, by that strong emotion pressed,

Which prompts us to unload our breast,
Even when discovery's pain,

To Lindesay did at length unfold

The tale his village host had told,
At Gilford, to his train.
Nought of the Palmer says he there,
And nought of Constance, or of Clare :
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems
To mention but as feverish dreams.

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread
My burning limbs, and couched my head

Fantastic thoughts returned ;
And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burned.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,
And, as the moon shone bright and cold,
Soon reached the camp upon the wold.
The southern entrance I passed through,
And halted, and my bugle blew.
Methought an answer met my ear, —
Yet was the blast so low and drear,
So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.

" Thus judging, for a little space
I listened, ere I left the place ;

But scarce could trust my eyes,
Nor yet can think they served me true,
When sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,

A mounted champion rise. —

140 HARMON. [Canto IV

I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,
In single fight, and mixed affray,
And ever, I myself may say,

Have borne me as a knight ;
But when this unexpected foe
Seemed starting from the gulf below, —
I care not though the truth I show, —

I trembled with affright ;
And as I placed in rest my spear,
My hand so shook for very fear,

I scarce could couch it right.

" Why need my tongue the issue tell ]
We ran our course, — my charger fell ; —
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell 1 —

I rolled upon the plain.
High o'er my head, with threatening hand,
The spectre shook his naked brand, —

Yet did the worst remain ;
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, —
Not opening hell itself could blast

Their sight, like what I saw !
Full on his face the moonbeam strook, —
A face could never be mistook I
I knew the stern vindictive look,

And held my breath for awe.
I saw the face of one who, fled
To foreign climes, has long been dead, —

I well believe the last ;
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare
A human warrior, with a glare

So grimly and so ghast.
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ;
But when to good Saint George I prayed,
(The first time e'er I asked his aid,)

He plunged it in the sheath ;
And, on his courser mounting light,
He seemed to vanish from my sight :
The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night

Sunk down upon the heath. —
'Twere long to tell what cause I have

To know his face, that met me there,
Called by his hatred from the grave

To cumber upper air ;
Dead or alive, good cause had he
To be my mortal enemy."

Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ;
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount

Such chance had happed of old,
When once, near Norham, there did fight
A spectre fell of fiendish might,

Canto JTJ MARMION. 141

In likeness of a Scottish knight,

With Brian Bulmer hold,
And trained him nigh to disallow
The aid of his baptismal vow.

" And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,

With Highland broad-sword, targe, and
plaid,
And fingers red with gore,
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade,
Or where the sable pine-trees shade
Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid,

Dromouchty, or Glenmore.*
And yet, whate'er such legends say,
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay,

On mountain, moor, or plain.
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,
True son of chivalry should hold

These midnight terrors vain ;
For seldom have such spirits power
To harm, save in the evil hour,
When guilt we meditate within,
Or harbour unrepented sin. " —
Lord Marmion turned him half aside,
And twice to clear his voice he tried,

Then pressed Sir David's hand, —
But nought, at length, in answer said ;
And here their further converse staid,

Each ordering that his band
Should bowne them with the rising day,
To Scotland's camp to take their way, —

Such was the King's command.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,
And I could trace each step they trode;
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,
Lies on the path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied lore;
But, passing such digression o'er,
Suffice it that their route was laid
Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They passed the glen and scanty rill,
And climbed the opposing bank, until
They gained the top of Blackford Hill.

xxiv.

Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast,

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,

A truant-boy, I sought the nest,

Or listed, as I lay at rest,
While rose, on breezes thin,

The murmur of the city crowd,

* See the traditions concerning Bulmer, and'the spectre called Lham-
dearg, or Bloody-hand, in " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."

142 MARMION. f Canto IV.

And, from his steeple jangling loud,
Saint Giles's mingling din.
Now from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the hill with yellow grain:

And o'er the landscape as I look,
Nought do I see unchanged remain,

Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.
To me they make a heavy moan
Of early friendships past and gone.

But different far the change has been,

Since Marmion, from the crown
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene

Upon the bent so brown :
Thousand pavilions, white as snow,
Spread all the Borough-moor below,

Upland, and dale, and down :
A thousand did I say 1 I ween,
Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That chequered all the heath between

The streamlet and the town ;
In crossing ranks extending far,
Forming a camp irregular ;
Oft giving way, where still there stood
Some reliques of the old oak wood,
That darkly huge did intervene,
And tamed the glaring white with green :
In these extended lines there lay
A martial kingdom's vast array.

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
Aud from the southern Redswire edge,
To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge;
From west to east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marmion might hear the mingled hum
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tinkling clank,
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,

And charger's shrilling neigh;
And see the shifting lines advance,
While frequent flashed, from shield and lance,

The sun's reflected ray.

Thin curling in the morning air,
The wreaths of failing smoke declare,
To embers now the brands decayed,
Where the night-watch their fires had made.
They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car,

Canto JT] MARMION. 143

By sluggish oxen tugged to war ;

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,*

And culverins which France had given.

Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain.

XXVIII.

Nor marked they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair;

Various in shape, device, and hue,

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and hlue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,"f* there

O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest, and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;

The staff, a pine-tree strong and straight,
Pitched deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight,
Whene'er the western wind unrolled,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,

And gave to view the dazzling field,

Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy Lion ramped in gold.

XXIX.

Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright, —
He viewed it with a chiefs delight, —
Until within him burned his heart,
And lightning from his eye did part,

As on the battle-day; —
Such glance did falcon never dart,

When stooping on his prey. —
" Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said,
Thy King from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay;
For, by Saint George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal, nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimmed their armour's shine,

In glorious battle fray ! " —
Answered the bard, of milder mood :
" Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good,

That kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has blessed,
'Tis better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall."—

XXX.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed,
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed,

* Seven culverins so called, cast by one Bortliwick.
t Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of those
Entitled to display them.

144 MARMIOJf. ICanlo IV.

When, sated with the martial show

That peopled all the plain below,

The wandering eye could o'er it go,

And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendour red ;

For on the smoke- wreaths, huge and slow,

That round her sable turrets flow,
The morning beams were shed,

And tinged them with a lustre proud,

Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge castle holds its state,

And all the steep slope down,
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,

Mine own romantic town !
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kissed,
It gleamed a purple amethyst.

Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;

Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick- Law;
And broad between them rolled,

The gallant Firth the eye might note,

Whose islands on its bosom float,
Like emeralds chased in gold.

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent ;

As if to give his rapture vent,

The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle-hand,
And, making demi-volte in air,
Cried, " Where's the coward that would not dare

To fight for such a land ! "
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see;
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee.

Thus while they looked, a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud,

And fife, and kettle-drum,
And sackbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,

Did up the mountain come;
The whilst the bells, with distant chime,
Merrily tolled the hour of prime,

And thus the Lindesay spoke : —
" Thus clamour still the war-notes when
The King to mass his way has ta'en,
Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne,

Or chapel of Saint Kocque.
To you they speak of martial fame;
But me remind of peaceful game,

When blither was their cheer.

Canto IV.] MARMION. 145

Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air,
In signal none his steed should spare,
But strive which foremost might repair
To the downfall of the deer.

" Nor les3," he said, — " when looking forth,
I view yon Empress of the North

Sit on her hilly throne ;
Her palace's imperial bowers,
Her castle proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers —

Nor less," he said, " I moan,
To think what woe mischance may bring,
And how these merry bells may ring
The death-dirge of our gallant King ;

Or, with their larum, call
The burghers forth to watch and ward,
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. —
But not for my presaging thought,
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought 1

Lord Marmion, I say nay : —
God is the guider of the field,
He breaks the champion's spear and shield, —

But thou thyself shalt say,
When joins yon host in deadly stowre,
That England's dames must weep in bower,

Her monks the death-mass sing;
For never saw'st thou such a power

Led on by such a king." —
And now, down winding to the plain,
The barriers of the camp they gain,

And there they made a stay. —
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling
His hand o'er every Border string,
And fit his harp the pomp to sing,
Of Scotland's ancient Court and King,

In the succeeding lay.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.

TO GEORGE ELLIS, Esq.

Edinburgh.

When dark December glooms the day,

And takes our autumn joys away;

When short and scant the sun-beam throws,

Upon the weary waste of snows,

A cold and profitless regard,

Like patron on a needy bard ;

10

146 MABMION. [Intiod

When sylvan occupation's done,
And o'er the chimney rests the gun,
And hang, in idle trophy, near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ;
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb.
And pointer, now employed no more,
Cumber our parlour's narrow floor ;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemned to rest and feed ;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring
' The needful water from the spring ;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned o'er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, crossed,
Inveighs against the lingering post,
And answering house- wife sore complains
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains :
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books, to change
The Forest's melancholy rang^,
And welcome, with renewed delight,
The busy day, and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme
Lament the ravages of time,
As erst by Newark's riven towers,
And Ettricke stripped of forest bowers.*
True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,
Since on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent,
By bulwark, line, and battlement,
And flanking towers, and laky flood,
Guarded and garrisoned she stood,
Denying entrance or resort,
Save at each tall embattled port ;
Above whose arch, suspended, hung
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone, — but not so long,
Since, early closed, and opening late,
Jealous revolved the studded gate;
Whose task from eve to morning tide
A wicket churlishly supplied.
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow,
Dun-Edin ! 0, how altered now,
When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sitt'st like Empress at her sport,
And liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,

* Sec Introduction to Canto II

Canto V.] MABMIOJT. 147

For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower,
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower,
Thou gleara'st against the western ray
Ten thousand lines of brighter day.

Not she, the championess of old,
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, —
She for the charmed spear renowned,
Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,—
Not she more changed, when, placed at rest,
What time she was Malbecco's guest,*
She gave to flow her maiden vest ;
When from the corslet's grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved ;
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile,
Erst hidden by the aventayle;
And down her shoulders graceful rolled
Her locks profuse, of paly gold.
They who whilorae, in midnight fight,
Had marvelled at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved. +
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,
And passion, erst unknown, could gain
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;
Nor durst light Paridel advance,
Bold as he was, a looser glance, —
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart,
Incomparable Britomarte !

So thou, fair City! disarrayed
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid,
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far
Than in that panoply of war.
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne
Strength and security are flown ;
Still, as of yore, Queen of the North !
Still canst thou send thy children forth.
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall,
Than now, in danger, shall be thine,
Thy dauntless voluntary line;
For fosse and turret proud to stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there fell
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle.

* See "The Fairy Queen," Book III. Canto IX.

t " For every one her liked, and every one her loved."

Spenser, as above.

143 MARMION. [iKtroA

And if it come, — as come it may,

Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, —

Renowned for hospitable deed,

That virtue much with heaven may plead,

In patriarchal times, whose care

Descending angels deigned to share ;

That claim may wrestle blessings down

On those who fight for the Good Town,

Destined in every age to be

Refuge of injured royalty ;

Since first, when conquering York arose,

To Henry meek she gave repose,

Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,

Great Bourbon's reliques, sad she saw.

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they
rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For fiction's fair romantic range,
Or for Tradition's dubious light, _
That hovers 'twixt the day and night:
Dazzling alternately and dim,
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see,
Creation of my fantasy,
Then gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men. —
Who loves not more the night of June
Than dull December's gloomy noon 1
The moonlight than the fog of frost ]
And can we say, which cheats the most ?

But who shall teach my harp to gain
A sound of the romantic strain, _
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere
Could win the Royal Henry's ear,
Famed Beauclerc called, for that he loved
The minstrel, and his lay approved]
Who shall these lingering notes redeem,
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ;
Such notes as from the Breton tongue
Marie translated, Blondel sung .? —
O ! born Time's ravage to repair,
And make the dying Muse thy care ;
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe
Was poising for the final blow,
The weapon from his hand couldwring,
A nd break his glass, and shear his wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,
The gentle poet live again ;
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay
An unpedantic moral gay,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit ;

Canto V.] MABMIOfl. 149

In letters as in life approved,
Example honoured, and beloved, —
Dear Ellis ! to the hard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,
To win at once the head and heart,—
At once to charm, instruct, and mend,
My guide, my pattern, and my friend !

Such minstrel lesson to bestow
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, 0 !
No more by thy example teach
What few can practise, all can preach ;
With even patience to endure
Lingering disease, and painful cure,
And boast affliction's pangs subdued
By mild and manly fortitude.
Enough, the lesson has been given :
Forbid the repetition, Heaven !

Come listen, then ! for thou hast known,
And loved, the Minstrel's varying tone ;
Who, like his Border sires of old,
Waked a wild measure, rude and bold,
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain,
With wonder heard the northern strain.
Come, listen ! — bold in thy applause,
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ;
And, as the ancient art could stain
Achievements on the storied pane,
Irregularly traced and planned,
But yet so glowing and so grand ;
So shall he strive, in changeful hue,
Field, feast, and combat, to renew,
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee,
And all the pomp of chivalry.

CANTO FIFTH.

THK COURT.

The train has left the hills of Braid ;
The barrier guard have open made
(So Lindesay bade), the palisade,

That closed the tented ground ;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through,

Into its ample bound.
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,
Upon the Southern band to stare ;
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes ;
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,

150 MARMION. [Canto V.

So huge, that many simply thought,
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ;
And little deemed their force to feel,
Through links of mail, and plates of steel,
When, rattling upon Flodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful view
Glance every line and squadron through ;
And much he marvelled one small land
Could marshal forth such various band :

For men-at-arms were here,
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate,
Like iron towers for strength and weight.
On Flemish steeds of bone and height,

With battle-axe and spear.
Young knights and squires, a lighter train,
Practised their chargers on the plain,
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,

Each warlike feat to show ;
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain,
And high curvett, that not in vain
The sword-sway might descend amain

On foeman's casque below.
He saw the hardy burghers there
March armed, on foot, with faces bare,

For visor they wore none,
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ;
But burnished were their corslets bright,
Their brigantines, and gorgets light,

Like very silver shone.
Long pikes they had for standing fight,

Two-handed swords they wore,
And many wielded mace of weight,

And bucklers bright they bore.

On foot the yeoman too, but dressed
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest,

With iron quilted well ;
Each at his back (a slender store),
His forty days' provision bore,

As feudal statutes tell.
His arms were halbard, axe, or spear,
A cross-bow there, a hagbut here,

A dagger-knife, and brand. —
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer,
As loth to leave his cottage dear,

And march to foreign strand ;
Or musing, who would guide his steer,

To till the fallow land.
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye
Did aught of dastard terror lie ; —

More dreadful far his ire,

Oanto V.] MARMION. 151

Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name.
In eager mood to battle came,
Their valour like light straw on flame,
A fierce but fading fire.

Not so the Borderer : — bred to war,
He knew the battle's din afar,

And joyed to hear it swell.
His peaceful day was slothful ease ;
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please,

Like the loud slogan yell.
On active steed, with lance and blade,
The light-armed pricker plied his trade, —

Let nobles fight for fame ;
Let vassals follow where they lead,
Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed,

But war's the Borderer's game.
Their gain, their glory, their delight,
To sleep the day, maraud the night,

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ;
Joyful to fignt they took their way,
Scarce caring who might win the day,

Their booty was secure.
These, as Lord Marmion's train passed by,
Looked on at first with careless eye.
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know
The form and force of English bow.

But when they saw the lord arrayed

In splendid arms, and rich brocade,

Each Borderer to his kinsman said, —

" Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there !
Canst guess which road they'll homeward ride ] -
0 ! could we but on Border side,
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide,

Beset a prize so fair !
That fangless Lion, too, their guide,
Might chance to lose his glistering hide ;
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied,

Could make a kirtle rare."

Next Marmion marked the Celtic race,
Of different language, form, and face,

A various race of man;
Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed,
And wild and garish semblance made,
The chequered trews, and belted plaid,
And varying notes the war-pipes brayed

To every varying clan;
Wild through their red or sable hair
Looked out their eyes, with savage stare,

On Marmion as he past;
Their legs abo^e the knee were bare;
Their frame wa3 sinewy, short, and spare,

152 MAEMIOK'. [Canto VL

And hardened to the blast;
Of taller race, the chiefs they own
"Were by the eagle'3 plumage known.
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide
Their hairy buskins well supplied;
The graceful bonnet decked their head;
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid;
A broad-sword of unwieldy length,
A dagger proved for edge and strength,

A studded targe they wore,
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, 0 !
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow,

To that which England bore.
The Isles men carried at their backs
The ancient Danish battle-axe.
They raised a wild and wondering cry,
As with his guide rode Marmion by.
Loud were their clamouring tongues, as

when
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen,
And, with their cries discordant mixed,
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt.

Thus through tne Scottish camp they passed,
And reached the City gate at last,
Where all around, a wakeful guard,
Armed burghers kept their watch and ward.
Well had they cause of jealous fear,
When lay encamped, in field so near,
The Borderer and the Mountaineer.
As through the bustling streets they go,
All was alive with martial show ;
At every turn, with dinning clang,
The armourer's anvil clashed and rang;
Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheef
The bar that arms the charger's heel;
Or axe, or falchion, to the side
Of jarring grind-stone was applied.

Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace,

Through street, and lane, and market-place,
Bore lance, or casque, or sword;

While burghers, with important face,
Described each new-come lord,

Discussed his lineage, told his name,

His following,* and his warlike fame. —
The Lion led to lodging meet,
Which high o'erlooked the crowded street;

There must the Baron rest,
Till past the hour of vesper tide,
And then to Holy-Rood must ride, —

Such was the King's behest.

Following— Feudal Retainers.

Canto V.] IIABMION. 153

Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns
A banquet rich, and costly wines,

To Marmion and his train;
And when the appointed hour succeeds,
The Baron dons his peaceful weeds,
And following Lindesay as he leads,

The palace halls they gain.

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily,

That night, with wassal, mirth, and glee :

King James within her princely bower

Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,

Summoned to spend the parting hour;
For he had charged, that his array
Should southward "march by break of day.
Well loved that splendid monarch aye

The banquet and the song,
By day the tourney, and by night
The merry dance, traced fast and light.
The masquers quaint, the pageant bright,

The revel loud and long.
This feast outshone his banquets past;
It was his blithest, — and his last.

The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay,

Cast on the oourt a dancing ray;

Here to the harp did minstrels sing;

There ladies touched a softer string;

With long-eared cap, and motley vest,

The licensed fool retailed his jest;

His magic tricks the juggler plied;

At dice and draughts the gallants vied ;
While some, in close recess apart,
Courted the ladies of their heart,

Nor courted them in vain ;
For often, in the parting hour,
Victorious love asserts his power

O'er coldness and disdain;
And flinty is her heart, can view
To battle march a lover true, —
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu,
Nor own her share of pain.

VIII.

Through this mixed crowd of glee and game,
The King to greet Lord Marmion came,

While, reverend, all made room.
An easy task it was, I trow,
King James's manly form to know,
Although, his courtesy to show,
He doned, to Marmion bending low,

His broidered cap and plume.
For royal were his garb and mien,

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled,

Trimmed with the fur of martin wild;

154 MARMION. [Canto V.

His vest, of Changeful satin sheen,

The dazzled eye beguiled;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,
The thistle brave, of old renown ;
His trusty blade, Toledo right,
Descended from a baldric bright;
White were his buskins, on the heel
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ;
His bonnet, all of crimson fair,
Was buttoned with a ruby rare :
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien.

The Monarch's form was middle size;

For feat of strength, or exercise,
Shaped in proportion fair;

And hazle was his eagle eye,

And auburn of the darkest dye,
His short curled beard and hair.

Light was his footstep in the dance,
And firm his stirrup in the lists ;

And, oh ! he had that merry glance,
That seldom lady's heart resists.

Lightly from fair to fair he flew,

And loved to plead, lament, and sue; —

Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain!

For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
I said he joyed in banquet-bower;

But, mid his mirth, 'twas often strange,
How suddenly his cheer would change,
His look o'ercast and lower,
If, in a sudden turn, he felt
The pressure of his iron belt,
That bound his breast in penance-pain,
In memory of his father slain.
Even so 'twas strange how, evermore,
Soon as the passing pang was o'er,
Forward he rushed, with double glee,
Into the stream of revelry :
Thus, dim-seen object of affright
Startles the courser in his flight,
And half he halts, half springs aside ;
But feels the quickening spur applied,
And, straining on the tightened rein,
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway :

To Scotland's court she came,
To be a hostage for her lord,
Who Gessford's gallant heart had gored.

0i""° *J MABMION. 155

And with the King to make accord,

Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay King allegiance own ;

For the "fair Queen of France
Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove,
And charged him, as her knight and love,

For her to break a lance :
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,
And march three miles on Southron land,
And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.
And thus, for France's Queen, he drest
His manly limb3 in mailed vest;
And thus admitted English fair,
His inmost counsels still to share;

And thus, for both, he madly planned

The ruin of himself and land !
And yet, the sooth to tell,

Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,

Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen,
From Margaret's eyes that fell, —
Hi3 own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's

bower,
All lonely sat, and ^ept the weary hour.

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,

And weeps the weary day,
The war against her native soil,
Her monarch's risk in battle broil : —
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while,
Dame Heron rises with a smile.

Upon the harp to play.
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew :
And as she touched and tuned them all,
Even her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view ;
For all, for heat, was laid aside,
Her wimple, and her hood untied.
And first she pitched her voice to sing
Then glanced her dark eye on the King,
And then around the silent ring ;
And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say
Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay,
She could not, would not, durst not play !
At length, upon the harp, with glee,
Mingled with arch simp' Kiity,
A soft, yet lively, air she rung,
While thus the wily lady sung.

156 MAIUIION. [Canto V

XII.

LOCHINVAR.

|F aba i-ewtr'a Stonij.

0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ;
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ;

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late :

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all :

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

" 0 come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar V —

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; —
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide —
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, —
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood

near ;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung !

CantoV.] BIARMIOIf. 157

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung !

" She is won 1 we are gone, over bank, bush, and

scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby

clan ;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and

they ran :
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

The Monarch o'er the syren hung,
And beat the measure as she sung ;
And, pressing closer, and more near,
He whispered praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers vied ;
And ladies winked, and spoke aside.

The witching dame to Marmion threw
A glance, where seemed to reign

The pride that claims applauses due,

And of her royal ccnquest too,
A real or feigned disdain :

Familiar was the look, and told,

Marmion and she were friends of old.
The King observed their meeting eyes,
With something like displeased surprise ;
For monarchs ill can rivals brook,
Even in a word, or smile, or look.
Strait took he forth the parchment broad,
Which Marmion's high commission showed :
" Our Borders sacked by many a raid,
Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said ;
" On day of truce our Warden slain,
Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en —
Unworthy were we here to reign,
Should these for vengeance cry in vain ;
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,
Our herald has to Henry borne." —

He paused, and led where Douglas stood,
And with stern eye the pageant viewed :

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,

Who coronet of Angus bore,

And, when his blood and heart were high,

Did the third James in camp defy,

And all his minions led to die
On Lauder's dreary flat :

Princes and favourites long grew tame,

168 MARMION. [Canto 7

And trembled at the homely name

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat.
The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddesdale,

Its dungeons, and its towers,
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air,
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,

To fix his princely bowers.
Though now, in age, he had laid down
His armour for the peaceful gown,

And for a staff his brand,
Yet often would flash forth the fire,
That could, in youth a monarch's ire

And minion's pride withstand ;
And even that day, at council board,

Unapt to sooth his sovereign's mood,

Against the war had Angus stood,
And chafed his royal lord.

His giant-form like ruined tower,
Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt,
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt,
Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower :
His locks and beard in silver grew ;
His eye-brows kept their sable hue.
Near Douglas when the monarch stood,
His bitter speech he thus pursued : —
" Lord Marmion, since these letters say
That in the North you needs must stay,

While slightest hopes of peace remain,
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern,
To say — Return to Lindisfarn,

Until my herald come again. —
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold,
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, —
A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed ;
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,
More than to face his country's foes.
And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen,

But e'en this morn to me was given
A prize, the first-fruits of the war,
Ta en by a galley from Dunbar,

A bevy of the maids of heaven.
Under your guard, these holy maids
Shall safe return to cloister shades,
And, while they at Tantallon stay,
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." —
And, with the slaughtered favourite's

name,
Across the monarch's brow there came
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

Canto V.] MARMION. 159

XVI.
In answer nought could Angus speak ;
His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break :
He turned aside, and down his cheek

A burning tear there stole.
His hand the monarch sudden took,
That sight his kind heart could not brook :

" Now, by the Brace's soul,
Angus, my hasty speech'forgive !
For sure as doth his spirit live,
As he said of the Douglas old,

I well may say of you, —
That never king did subject hold,
In speech more free, in war more bold,

More tender, and more true : *
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." —
And, while the King his hand did strain,
The old man's tears fell down like rain.
To seize the moment Marmion tried,
And whispered to the King aside : —
" Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed !
A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart :
But woe awaits a country, when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high,
When Douglas wets his manly eye ! " —

XVII.

Displeased was James, that stranger viewed

And tampered with his changing mood.

" Laugh those that can, weep those that may,"

Thus did the fiery monarch say,

" Southward I march by break of day ;

And if within Tantallon strong,

The good Lord Marmion tarries long,

Perchance our meeting next may fall

At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." —

The haughty Marmion felt the taunt,

And answered, grave, the royal vaunt :

" Much honoured were my humble home,

If in its halls King James should come ;

But Nottingham has archers good,

And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ;

Northumbrian prickers wild and rude.

On Derby Hills the paths are steep ;

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ;

* 0, Dowglas ! Dowglas I
Tendir and Trew.

The Houlate.

160 HARMION. [Canto V

And many a banner will be torn,

And many a knight to earth be borne.

And many a sheaf of arrows spent,

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent :

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet yoa may. " — ■

The monarch lightly turned away,

And to his nobles loud did call, —

" Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall !"*

Himself his cloak and sword flung by,

And led Dame Heron gallantly ;

And minstrels, at the royal order,

Rung out — "Blue Bonnets o'er the Border."

Leave we these revels now, to tell
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell,
Whose galley, as they sailed again
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide,
Till James should of their fate decide ;

And soon, by his command,
Were gently summoned to prepare
To journey under Marmion's cai-e,
As escort honoured, safe, and fair,

Again to English land.
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er,
Nor knew which Saint she should implore;
For, when she thought of Constance, sore

She feared Lord Marmion's mood.
And judge what Clara must have felt !
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt,

Had drunk Be Wilton's blood.
Unwittingly, King James had given,

As guard to Whitby's shades,
The man most dreaded under heaven

By these defenceless maids ;
Yet what petition could avail,
Or who would listen to the tale
Of woman, prisoner and nun,
Mid bustle of a war begun )
They deemed it hopeless to avoid
The convoy of their dangerous guide.

Their lodging, so the King assigned,
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined;
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh,
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye,

Who warned him by a scroll,
She had a secret to reveal,
That much concerned the Church's weal,

And health of sinners' soul;

r The ancient cry to maKe room for a dance, or pageant

Canto K] MABMIOif. 1G1

Within an open balcony,

That hung from dizzy pitch, and high,

Above the stately street;
To which, as common to eacli home,
At night they might in secret come.

At night, in secret there they came,
The Palmer and the holy dame.
The moon among the clouds rode high,
And all the city hum was by.

Upon the street, where late before

Did din of war and warriors roar,
You might have heard a pebble fall,

A beetle hum, a cricket sing,

An owlet flap his boding wing
On Giles's steeple tall.
The antique buildings, climbing high,
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky,

Were here wrapt deep in shade;
There on their brows the moon-beam broke,
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,

And on the casements played.
And other light was none to see,

Save torches gliding far,
Before some chieftain of degree,
Who left the royal revelry

To bowne him for the war. —
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ;
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.

" 0, holy Palmer ! " she began, —
" For sure he must be sainted man,
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found ; —
For his dear Church's sake, my tale
Attend, nor deem of light avail,
Though I must speak of worldly love, —
How vain to those who wed above ! —
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ;
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame,
To say of that same blood I came;)
And once, when jealous rage was high,
Lord Marmion said despiteously,
Wilton was traitor in his heart,
And had made league with Martin Swart,
When he came here on Simnel's part;

* A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by tlio
Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert SimneL lie was defeated and killed
at iruketicdd, 1487. The field of battle preserves his name— Swart-moor,
11

162 MAllMIOJJ. [Canto V.

And only cowardice did restrain
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, —
And down lie threw his glove : — the thing
Was tried, as wont, before the king;
Where frankly did De Wilton own,
That Swart in Guelders he had known;
And that between them then there went
Some scroll of courteous compliment.
For this he to his castle sent ;
But when his messenger returned,
Judge how De Wilton's fury burned !
For in his packet there were laid
Letters that claimed disloyal aid,
And proved King Henry's cause betrayed.
His fame, thus blighted, in the field
He strove to clear, by spear and shield : —
To clear his fame in vain he strove,
For wondrous are His ways above !
Perchance some form was unobserved;
Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved;
Else how could guiltless champion quail,
Or how the blessed ordeal fail ]

" His squire, who now De Wilton saw
As recreant doomed to suffer law,

Repentant, owned in vain,
That, while he had the scrolls in care,
A stranger maiden, passing fair,
Had drenched him with a beverage rare;

His words no faith could gain.
With Clare alone he credence won,
Who, rather than wed Marmion,
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair,
To give our house her livings fair,
And die a vestal vot'ress there:
The impulse from the earth was given,
But bent her to the paths of heaven.
A purer heart a lovelier maid,
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade,
No, not since Saxon Edelfled;

Only one trace of earthly stain,
That for her lover's loss

She cherishes a sorrow vain,
And murmurs at the cross. —
And then her heritage; — it goes

Along the banks of Tame;
Deep fields of grain the reaper mows,
In meadows rich the heifer lows,
The falconer, and huntsman, knows

Its woodlands for the game.
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear,
And I her humble vot'ress here

Should do a deadly sin,

Canto V.] MARMION. 163

Her temple spoiled before mine eyes,
If this false Marmion such a prize

By my consent should win;
Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn,
That Clare shall from our house be torn;
And grievous cause have I to fear,
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear.

" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed
To evil power, I claim thine aid,

By every step that thou hast trod
To holy shrine and grotto dim,
By every martyr's tortured limb,
By angel, saint, and seraphim.
And by the Church of God !
For mark: — When Wilton was betrayed,
And with his squire forged letters laid,
She was, alas ! that sinful maid,

By whom the deed was done, —
0 I shame and horror to be said !—

She was a perj ured nun ;
No clerk in all the land, like her,
Traced quaint and varying character.
Perchance you may a marvel deem,

That Marmion 's paramour,
(For such vile thing she was), should scheme

Her lover's nuptial hour;
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain,
As privy to his honour's stain,

Illimitable power :
For this she secretly retained
Each proof that might the plot reveal,
Instructions with his hand and seal;
And thus Saint Hilda deigned,
Through sinner's perfidy impure,
Her house's glory to secure,
And Clare's immortal weal.

" 'Twere long, and needless, here to tell,
How to my hand these papers fell;

With me they must not stay.
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true !
Who knows what outrage he might do,

While journeying by the way ] —

0 blessed Saint, if ere again

1 venturous leave thy calm domain,
To travel or by land or main,

Deep penance may I pay ! —
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer:
I give this packet to thy care,
For thee to stop they will not dare;

And 0 ! with cautious speed,

154 MArtailON. [Canto V.

To Wolsey's baud the papers bring,"
That he may show them to the King;

And, for thy well-earned meed,
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine
A weekly mass shall still be thine,

While priests can sing and read.
What ail'st thou ]— Speak ! " — For as he took
The charge, a strong emotion shook

His frame; and, ere reply,
They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone,
Like distant clarion feebly blown,

That on the breeze did die;
And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear,
" Saint Withold save us !— What is here !

Look at yon City Cross !
See on its battled tower appear
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear,

And blazoned banners toss !

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone,
Hose on a turret octagon;

( But now is razed that monument,
Whence royal edict rang,

And voice of Scotland's law was sent
In glorious trumpet clang.
0 ! be his tomb as lead to lead,
Upon its dull destroyer's head !—
A minstrel's malison* is said.—)
Then on its battlements they saw
A vision, passing Nature's law,

Strange, wild, and dimly seen;
Figures that seemed to rise and die,
Gibber and sign, advance and fly,
While nought confirmed could ear or eye

Discern of sound or mien.
Yet darkly did it seem, as there
Heralds and Pursuivants prepare,
With trumpet sound, and blazoned fait,

A summons to proclaim;
But indistinct the pageant proud,
As fancy forms of midnight cloud,
When flings the moon upon her shroud

A wavering tinge of flame;
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud,
From midmost of the spectre crowd,

This awful summons came : —

xxvi.
"Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer,

Whose names I now shall call,
Scottish or foreigner, give ear !
Subjects of him who sent me here,

* That is— Curse.

Canto V.] MARMION. 1G5

At his tribunal to appear,

I summon one and all :
I cite you by each deadly sin,
That ere bath soiled your hearts within :
I cite you by each brutal lust,
That ere defiled your earthly dust, —

By wrath, by pride, by fear,
By each o'er-mastering passion's tone,
By the dark grave, and dying groan !
When forty days are past and gone,
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne,

To answer and appear." —
Then thundered forth a roll of names: —
The first was thine, unhappy James !

Then all thy nobles came;
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle,
Boss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, —
Why should I tell their separate style 'i

Each chief of birth and fame,
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle,
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile,

Was cited there by name;
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbay,
Be Wilton, erst of Aberley,
The self-same thundering voice did say. —

But then another spoke:
" Thy fatal summons I deny,
And thine infernal lord defy,
Appealing me to Him on High,

Who burst the sinner's yoke."
At that dread accent, with a scream,"
Farted the pageant like a dream,

The summoner was gone.
Trone on her face the Abbess fell,
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell;
Her nuns came, startled by the yell,

And found her there alone.
She marked not, at the scene aghast,
What time, or how, the Falmer passed.

Shift we the scene. The camp doth move ;

Dun-Edin's streets are empty now,
Save when, for weal of those they love,

To pray the prayer, and vow the vow,
The tottering child, the anxious fair,
The grey-haired sire, with pious care,
To chapels and to shrines repair. —
Where is the Falmer now 1 and where
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ?
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair

They journey in thy charge :
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand,
The Talmer still was with the band ;

[Canto V,

Angus, like Lindesay, did command,

That none should roam at large.
But in that Palmer's altered mien
A wondrous change might now be seen ;

Freely he spoke of war,
Of marvels wrought by single hand,
When lifted for a native land ;
And still looked high, as if he planned

Some desperate deed afar.
His courser would he feed and stroke,
And, tucking up his sable frock,
Would first his metal bold provoke,

Then soothe or quell his pride.
Old Hubert said, that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,

A steed so fairly ride.

xxvur.

Some half-hour's march behind, there carae,

By Eustace governed fair,
A troop escorting Hilda's Dame,

With all her nuns, and Clare.
No audience had Lord Marmion sought ;

Ever he feared to aggravate

Clara de Clare's suspicious hate;
And safer 'twas he thought,

To wait till, from the nuns removed

The influence of kinsmen loved,

And suit by Henry's self approved,
Her slow consent had wrought.

His was no flickering flame, that dies

Unless when fanned by looks and sighs,

And lighted oft at lady's eyes ;
He longed to stretch his wide command
O'er luckless Clara's ample land :
Besides, when Wilton with him vied,
Although the pang of humbled pride
The place of jealousy supplied,
Yet conquest, by that meanness won,
He almost loathed to think upon,
Led him, at times, to hate the cause,
Which made him burst through honour's laws
If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone,
Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw
North Berwick's town, and lofty Law,
Pitz- Eustace bade them pause a while,
Before a venerable pile,

Whose turrets viewed, afar,
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,

The ocean's peace or war.
At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent's venerable Dame,
And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest

Cunfo T] MARMION. 167

With her, a loved and honoured guest,
Till Douglas should a bark prepare,
To waft her back to Whitby fair.
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,
And thanked the Scottish Prioress ;
And tedious were to tell, I ween,
The courteous speech that passed between.
O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave;

But when fair Clara did intend,

Like them, from horseback to descend,
Fitz-Eustace said, — " I grieve,
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart,
Such gentle company to part : —

Think not discourtesy,
But lords' commands must be obeyed ;
And Marmion and the Douglas said,

That you must wend with me.
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,
Which to the Scottish earl he. showed,
Commanding, that, beneath his care,
Without delay, you shall repair,
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-CIare." —

The startled Abbess loud exclaimed ;
But she, at whom the blow was aimed,
Grew pale as death, and cold a3 lead, —
She deemed she heard her death-doom,ren<l.
" Cheer thee, my child ! " the Abbess said,
" They dare not tear thee from my hand,
To ride alone with armed band." —

" Nay, holy mother, nay,"
Fitz- Eustace said, " the lovely Clare
Will be in Lady Angus' care,

In Scotland while we stay;
And, when we move, an easy ride
Will bring us to the English side,
Female attendance to provide

Befitting Gloster's heir ;
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,
By slightest look, or act, or word,

To harass Lady Clare.
Her faithful guardian he will be,
Nor sue for slightest courtesy.

That e'en to stranger falls,
Till he shall place her, safe and free,

Within her kinsman's halls." —
He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace;
His faith was painted on his face,

And Clare's worst fear relieved.
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,

Entreated, threatened, grieved ;
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray ,
t Lord Ifarmion inveighed,

168 MARMION. [Canto V-

And called the Prioress to aid,
To curse with caudle, bell, and book, —
Her head the grave Cistertian shook :
'•'The Douglas, and the King," she said,
" In their commands will be obeyed ;
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall
The maiden in Tantallon hall." —

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain,
Assumed her wonted state again, —

For much of state she had, —
Composed her veil, and raised her head,
And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said,

" Thy master, bold and bad,
The records of his house turn o'er,

And, when he shall there written see,

That one of his own ancestry

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry,
Bid him his fate explore !

Prancing in pride of earthly trust,

His charger hurled him to the dust,

And, by a base, plebeian thrust,
He died his band before.

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ;

He is a chief of high degree,
And I a poor recluse;

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see

Even such weak minister as me
May the oppressor bruise :

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay
The mighty in his sin,

And Jael thus, and Deborah," —
Here hasty Blount broke in :
" Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band
St. Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou stand
All day, with bonnet in thy hand,

To hear the Lady preach ?
By this good light ! if thus we stay,
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,

Will sharper sermon teach.
Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse;
The Dame must patience take perforce. "-

" Submit we then to force," said Clare;
" But let this barbarous lord despair

His purposed aim to win ;
Let him take living, land, and life ;
But to be Marmion 's wedded wife

In me were deadly sin:
And if it be the king's decree,
That I must find no sanctuary,
Where even a homicide might come,

And safely rest his head,

Canto V.] MAEMIOX. 160

Though at its open portals stood,
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,

The kinsmen of the dead ;
Yet one asylum is my own,

Against the dreaded hour ;
A low, a silent, and a lone,

Where kings have little power.
One victim is before me there. —
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer
llemember your unhappy Clare I "■ —
Loud weeps the Abbes3, and bestows

Kind blessings many a one ;
Weeping and wailing loud arose,
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes

Of every simple nun.
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.

Then took the squire her rein,
And gently led away her steed,
And, by each courteous word and deed,

To cheer her strove in vain.

But scant three miles the band had rode.

When o'er a height they passed,
And sudden, close before them showed,

His towers, Tantallon vast ;
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,
And held impregnable in war.
On a projecting rock they rose,
And round three sides the ocean flows ;
The fourth did battled walls enclose

And double mound and fosse.
By narrow draw-bridge, outworks strong,
Through studded gates, an entrance long,

To the main court they cross.
It was a wide and stately square :
Around were lodgings, fit and fair,

And towers of various form,
Which on the court projected far,
And broke its lines quadrangular.
Here was square keep, there turret high,
Or pinnacle that sought the sky,
Whence oft the Warder could descry

The gathering ocean-storm.

xxxiv.
Here did they rest. — The princely care
Of Douglas, why should I declare,
Or say they met reception fair {

Or why the tidings say,
Which, varying, to Tantallon came,
By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame,

With every varying day ?
And, first, they heard King James had won

170 MARMIOIT. [Introd.

Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then,

That Norham Castle strong was ta'en.
At that sore marvelled Marnuon ; —
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand
Would soon subdue Northumberland :

But whispered news there came,
That, while his host inactive lay,
And melted by degrees away,
King James was dallying of the day

With Heron's •wily dame. —
Such acts to chronicles I yield ;

Go seek them there, and see :
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

And not a history. —
At length they heard the Scottish host
On that high ridge had made their post,

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ;
And that brave Surrey many a band
Had gathered in the Southern land,
And marched into Northumberland,

And camp at Wooler ta'en.
Marmion, like charger in the stall,
That hears, without, the trumpet-call,

Began to chafe, and swear : —
" A sorry thing to hide my head
In castle, like a fearful maid,

When such a field is near !
Needs must I see this battle day :
Death to my fame, if such a fray
Were fought, and Marmion away !

The Douglas, too, I wot not why,

Hath 'bated of his courtesy :
No longer in his halls I'll stay." —
Then bade his band, they should array
For march against the dawning day.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH.

TO RICHARD HEBER, Esq.

ilertoun House, Christmas.

Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer :
Even heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain ;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew ;
Then in his low and pine-built hall,
Where shields and axes decked the wall,

Canto TV] KAXXZOK. J71

They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ;

Caroused in seas of sable beer ;

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown

The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-bone ;

Or listened all, in grim delight,

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight.

Then, forth, in frenzy, would they hie,

While wildly loose their red locks fly,

And dancing round the blazing pile.

They make such barbarous mirth the while,

As best might to the mind recall

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all his hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:
On Christmas eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas eve the mass was sung ;
That only night, in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ;
The hall was dressed with holly green ;
Forth to the wood did merry men go,
To gather in the mistletoe.
Then opened wide the baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose ;
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of " post and pair."
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
.Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide ;
The huge hall-table's oaken face.
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn
By old blue-coated serving-man ;
Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-trarbed ranger tell.
How, when, and where, the monster fell ;
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassel round, in good brown bowls,
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls.

172 MARMION. [Tntrod.

There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ;
Nor failed old Scotland to produce,
At such higli tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry masquers in,
And carols roared with blithsome din ;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note, and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery ;
White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made ;
Put, 0 ! what masquers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light !
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.

Still linger, in our northern clime,
Some remnants of the good old time ;
And still, within our valleys here,
We hold the kindred title dear,
Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claim
To Southron ear sounds empty name ;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.*
And thus, my Christmas still I hold
Where my great-grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,
And reverend apostolic air —
The feast and holy-tide to share,
And mix sobriety with wine,
And honest mirth with thoughts divine
Small thought was his, in after time
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme.
The simple sire could only boast,
That he was loyal to his cost ;
The banished race of kings revered,
And lost his land, — but kept his beard.

In these dear halls where welcome kind
Is with fair liberty combined ;
Where cordial friendship gives the hand,
And flies constraint the magic wand
Of the fair dame that rules the land,
Little we heed the tempest drear,
While music, mirth, and social cheer,
Speed on their wings the passing year,
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now,

* "Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to vindicate om
family predilections.

Canto 77.] MAKMIOX. 173

When rot a leaf is on the bough.
Tweed loves them well, and turns again,
As loath to leave the sweet domain ;
And holds his mirror to her face,
And clips her with a close embrace : —
Gladly as he, we seek the dome,
And as reluctant turn us home.

How just, that, at this time of glee,
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee !
For many a merry hour we've known,
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone.
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease,
And leave these classic tomes in peace !
Of Roman and of Grecian lore,
Sure mortal brain can hold no more.
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say,
Were "pretty fellows in their day;" *
But time and tide o'er all prevail —
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale —
Of wonder and of war — " Profane !
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain,
Her stately prose, her verse's charms,
To hear the clash of rusty arms ;
In Fairy Land or Limbo lost,
To jostle conjuror and ghost,
Goblin and witch ! " — Nay, Heber dear,
Before you touch my charter, hear ;
Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more,
My cause with many-languaged lore.
This may I say : — in realms of death
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith;
JEneas, upon Thracia's shore,
The ghost of murdered Polydore;
For omens, we in Livy cross,
At every turn, locutus Bos.
As grave and duly speaks that ox,
As if he told the price of stocks ;
Or held, in Rome republican,
The place of common-councilman.

All nations have their omens drear,
Their legions wild of woe and fear.
To Cambria look — the peasant see,
Bethink him of Glendowerdy,
And shun "the spirit's Blasted Tree."
The Highlander, whose red claymore
The battle turned on Maida's shore,
Will, on a Friday morn, look pale,
If asked to tell a fairy tale :
He fears the vengeful Elfin King,
Who leaves that day his grassy ring;

* " Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir- a very pretty fellow in his day."
— Old Bachelor.

174 MARMION. [Irttrod.

Invisible to human ken,

He walks among the sons of men.

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along
Beneath the towers of Franchemont,
Which, like an eagle's nest in air,
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair ! —
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say,
A mighty treasure buried lay,
Amassed through rapine and through wrong
By the last lord of Franchemont.
The iron chest is bolted hard,
A Huntsman sits, its constaut guard ;
Around his neck his horn is hung,
His hanger in his belt is slung;
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie :
An 'twere not for his gloomy eye,
Whose withering glance no heart can brook,
As true a huntsman doth he look,
As bugle e'er in brake did sound,
Or ever hollowed to a hound.
To chase the fiend, and win the prize,
In that same dungeon ever tries
An aged Necromantic Priest ;
It is an hundred years at least
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun,
And neither yet has lost or won.
And oft the Conjuror's words will make
The stubborn Demon groan and quake ;
And oft the bands of iron break,
Or bursts one lock, that still amain,
Fast as 'tis opened, shuts again.
That magic strife within the tomb
May last until the day of doom,
Unless the Adept shall learn to tell
The very word that clenched the spell,
When Franch'mout locked the treasure cell.
An hundred years are past and gone,
And scarce three letters has he won.

Such general superstition may
Excuse for old Pitscottie say ;
Whose gossip history has given
My song the messenger from heaven,
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's King,
Nor less the infernal summoning ;
May pass the Monk of Durham's tale,
Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail;
May pardon plead for Fordun grave,
Who told of Gifford's Goblin- Cave.
But why such instances to you,
Who, in an instant, can review
Your treasured hoards of various lore,
And furnish twenty thousand more?
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest
Like treasures in the Franch'mout chest,

Canto TV.] HABMIOX. 175

While gripple owners still refuse
To others what they cannot use ;
Give them the priest's whole century,
They shall not spell you letters three;
Their pleasure in the books the same
The magpie takes in pilfered gem.
Thy volumes, open as thy heart,
Delight, amusement, science, art,
To every ear and eye impart ;
Yet who, of all who thus employ them,
Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them? —
But, hark ! I hear the distant drum :
The day of Flodden field is come. —
Adieu, dear Heber ! life and health,
And store of literary wealth.

CANTO SIXTH.

THE BATTLE.

While great events were on the gale,

And ea;h hour brought a varying tale,

And the demeanour, changed and cold,

Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold,

And, like the impatient steed of war,

He snuffed the battle from afar ;

And hopes were none, that back again

Herald should come from Terouenne,

Where England's King in leaguer lay,

Before decisive battle-day;

While these things were, the mournful Clare

Did in the Dame's devotions share :

For the good Countess ceaseless prayed,

To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid,

And, with short interval, did pass

From prayer to book, from book to mass,

And all in high Baronial pride, —

A life both dull and dignified ; —

Yet as Lord Marmion nothing pressed

Upon her intervals of rest,

Dejected Clara well could bear

The formal state, the lengthened prayer,

Though dearest to her wounded heart

The hours that she might spend apart.

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep

Hung o'er the margin of the deep,

Many a rude tower and rampart there

Repelled the insult of the air,

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky.

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by.

176 M ARM ION. {Canto VI.

Above the rest, a turret square

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear,

Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ;

The Bloody Heart was in the field,

And in the chief three mullets stood,

The cognizance of Douglas blood.

The turret held a narrow stair,

Which, mounted, gave you access where

A parapet's embattled row

Did seaward round the castle go ;

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending,

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending,

Sometimes in platform broad extending,

Its varying circle did combine

Bulwark, and bartisan, and line,

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign ;

Above the booming ocean leant

The far-projecting battlement ;

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow,

Upon the precipice below.

Where'er Tantallon faced the land,

Gate-works, and walls, were strongly manned

No need upon the sea-girt side ;

The steepy rock, and frantic tide,

Approach of human step denied ;

And thus these lines, and ramparts rude,

Were left in deepest solitude.

And, for they were so lonely, Clare
Would to these battlements repair,
And muse upon her sorrows there.

And list the sea-bird's cry ;
Or slow, like noon-tide ghost, would glido
Along the dark-grey bulwarks' side,
And ever on the heaving tide

Look down with weary eye.
Oft did the cliff, and swelling main,
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, —
A home she ne'er might see again;

For she had laid adown,
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil,
And frontlet of the cloister pale,

And Benedictine gown :
It were unseemly sight, he said
A novice out of convent shade.—
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow,
Again adorned her brow of snow ;
Her mantle rich, whose borders, round,
A deep and fretted broidery bound,
In golden foldings sought the ground ;
Of holy ornament, alone
Remained a cross with ruby stone ;

And often did she look

Canto 71.] MARMIOX, 177

On that whicli in her hand she bore,
With velvet bound, and broidered o'er,

Her breviary book.
In such a place, so lone, so grim,
At dawning pale, or twilight dim,

It fearful would have been,
To meet a form so richly dressed,
With book in hand, and cross on breast,

And such a woeful mien.
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow,
To practise on the gull and crow,
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow,

And did by Mary swear, —
Some love-lorn Fay she might have been,
Or, in romance, some spell-bound queen ;
For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen

A form so witching fair.

IV.

Once walking thus, at evening tide,

It chanced a gliding sail she spied,

And, sighing, thought — " The Abbess there,

Perchance, does to her home repair ;

Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free,

Walks hand in hand with Charity;

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow

Can such a glimpse of Heaven bestow,

That the enraptured sisters see

High vision, and deep mystery;

The very form of Hilda fair,*

Hovering upon the sunny air,

And smiling on her votaries' prayer.

0 ! wherefore, to my duller eye,

Did still the Saint her form deny !

Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn,

My heart could neither melt nor burn .'

Or lie my warm affections low,

With him, that taught them first to glow ?

Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew,

To pay thy kindness grateful due,

And well could brook the mild command,

That ruled thy simple maiden band. —

How different now ! condemned to bide

My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. —

But Marmion has to learn, ere long,

That constant mind, and hate of wrong,

Descended to a feeble girl,

From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl :

Of such a stem, a sapling weak,

He ne'er shall bend, although he break.

v.

" But see ! — what makes this armour here?"
For in her path there lay

* See Note,
19,

17S MAJUUOtf. [Canto 71

Targe, corslet, helm ; — she viewed them near. —
" The breast-plate pierced ! — Ay, much I fear,
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear,
That hath made fatal entrance here,

As these dark blood-gouts say. —
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corslet's ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard,
Could be thy manly bosom's guard,

On yon disastrous day ! " —
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, —
Wilton himself before her stood !
It might have seemed his passing ghost,
For every youthful grace was lost ;
And joy unwonted, and surprise,
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes. —
Expect not, noble dames and lords,
Than I can tell such scene in words:
What skilful limner ere would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven 1

Far less can my weak line declare
Each changing passion's shade;

Brightening to rapture from despair,

Soitow, surprise, and pity there,

And joy, with her angelic air,

And hope, that paints the future fair,
Their varying hues displayed :
Each o'er its rival's ground extending,
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending,
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield,
And mighty Love retains the field.
Shortly I tell what then he said,
By many a tender word delayed,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,
And question kind, and fond reply.

<§t TOtim'g jpsiorg.

" Forget we that disastrous day,

When senseless in the lists I lay.

Thence dragged,— but how I cannot know,
For sense and recollection fled, —

I found me on a pallet low,

Within my ancient beadsman's shed.

Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare,
How thou didst blush, when the old man,
When first our infant love began,

Said we would make a matchless pair 1 —
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled
From the degraded traitor's bed, —
He only held my burning head,
And tended me for many a day,
While wounds and fever held their sway.

Canto f7.] MARMIOX. 179

But far more needful was Lis care,
'When sense returned to wake despair;
For I did tear the closing wound,
And dash me frantic on the ground,
If e'er I heard the name of Clare.

At length, to calmer reason brought,

Much by his kind attendance wrought,
With him I left my native strand,

And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed,

My hated name and form to shade,
I journeyed many a land ;

No more a lord of rank and birth,

But mingled with the dregs of earth..

Oft AustiD for my reason feared,
When I would sit, and deeply brood
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood,

Or wild mad schemes upreared.
My friend at length fell sick, and said,

God would remove him soon ;
And while upon his dying bed,

He begged of me a boon —
If ere my deadliest enemy
Beneath my brand should conquered lie,
Even then my mercy should awake,
And spare his life for Austin's sake.

VII.

" Still restless as a second Cain,

To Scotland next my route was ta'en.

Full well the paths I knew;
Fame of my fate made various sound,
That death in pilgrimage I found,
That I had perished of my wound, —

None cared which tale was true :
And living eye could never guess
Be Wilton in his palmer's dress ;

For now that sable slough is shed,

And trimmed my shaggy beard and head,
I scarcely know me in the glass.
A chance most wond'rous did provide,
That I should be that Baron's guide —

I will not name his name ! —
Vengeance to God alone belongs ;
But, when I think on all my wrongs,

My blood is liquid flame !
And ne'er the time shall I forget,
When, in a Scottish hostel set,

Bark looks we did exchange :
What were his thoughts I cannot tell :
But in my bosom mustered Hell

Its plans of dark revenge.

VITI.

" A word of vulgar augury,
That broke from me, I scarce knew why,
Brought on a village tale;

ISO MARHION. [Canto VI

Which wrought upon his moody sprite,
And sent him armed forth by night.

I borrowed steed and mail,
And weapons, from his sleeping band ;

And, passing from a postern door,
We met, and 'countered, band to hand,—

He fell on Gifford-moor.
For the death-stroke my brand I drew,
(0 then my helmed head he knew,

The palmer's cowl was gone,)
Then had three inches of my blade
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, —
My hand the thought of Austin staid ;

I left him there alone. —
0, good old man ! even from the grave,
Thy spirit could thy master save:
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear,
Given to my hand this packet dear,
Of power to clear my injured fame,
And vindicate De Wilton's name. —
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell
Of the strange pageantry of Hell,

That broke our secret speech —
It rose from the infernal shade,
Or featly was some juggle played,

A tale of peace to teach.
Appeal to heaven I judged was best,
When my name came among the rest.

" Now here, within Tantallon Hold,
To Douglas late my tale I told,
To whom my house was known of old.
Won by my proofs, his falchion bright
This eve anew shall dub me knight.
These were the arms that once did turn
The tide of fight on Otterburne,
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield,
When the Dead Douglas won the field.
These Angus gave — his armourer's care,
Ere morn, shall every breach repair :
For nought, he said, was in his halls,
Dut ancient armour on the walls,
And aged chargers in the stalls,
And women, priests, and grey-haired

men ;
The rest were all in Twisel-glen.*
And now I watch my armour here,
By law of arms, till midnight's near ;
Then, once again a belted knight,
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light.

Where James encamped before taking post on Flodden.

Cento F7.] IIAItMIOtf. IS]

" There soon again we meet, my Clare !
This Baron means to guide thee there :
Douglas reveres his king's command.
Else would he take thee from his band.
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too,
Will give De Wilton justice due.
Now meeter far for martial broil,
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil,

Once more" "0, Wilton ! must we then

Piisk new-found happiness again,

Trust fate of arms once more ?

And is there not a humble glen,

Where we, content and poor,
Might build a cottage in the shade,
A shepherd thou, and I to aid
Thy task on dale and moor 1
That reddening brow ! — too well I know,
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow
While falsehood stains thy name :
Co then to fight ! Clare bids thee go !
Clare can a warrior's feelings know,

And weep a warrior's shame;
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel,
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel,
And belt thee with thy brand of steel,
And send thee forth to fame ! " —

That night, upon the rocks and bay,
The midnight moon-beams slumbering lay,
And poured its silver light, and pure,
Through loop-hole, and through embrazure,

Upon Tantallon tower and hall;
But chief where arched windows wide
Illuminate the chapel's pride,

The sober glances fall.
Much was there need; though, seamed with scars,
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

Though two grey priests were there,
And each a blazing torch held high,
You could not by their blaze descry

The chapel's carving fair.
Amid that dim and smoky light.
Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright,

A Bishop by the altar stood,

A noble lord of Douglas blood,
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.

Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye

But little pride of prelacy;

More pleased that, in a barbarous age,

He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page,

Than that beneath his rule he held

The bishopric of fair DunkeM.

182 MARMlOtf. [Canto VI

Beside him ancient Angus stood,
Doffed his fur gown, and sable hood:
O'er his huge form, and visage pale,
He wore a cap and shirt of mail ;
And leaned his large and wrinkled hand
Upon the huge and sweeping brand,
Which wont, of yore, in battle fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.
He seemed as, from the tombs around

Rising at judgment-day,
Some giant Douglas may be found

In all his old array;
So pale his face, so huge his limb,
So old his arms, his looks so grim.

Then at the altar Wilton kneels,
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels;
And think what next he must have felt,
At buckling of the falchion belt!

And judge how Clara changed her hue,
While fastening on her lover's side
A friend, which, though in danger tried,

He once had found untrue !
Then Douglas struck him with his blade :
" Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, — ■

I dub thee knight.
Arise Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir !
For king, for church, for lady fair,

See that thou fight." —
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose,
Said, — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes,

Disgrace and trouble;
For He, who honour best bestows,

May give thee double. " —
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must —
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust

That Douglas is my brother !" —
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, "not so;
To Surrey's camp thou now must go,

Thy wrongs no longer smother.
I have two sons in yonder field ;
And, if thou meet'st them under shield,
Upon them bravely — do thy worst ;
And foul fall him that blenches first ! "

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array

To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide :

Canto VI.] MARMION. 183

The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered, in an under tone,
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."
The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: —

'•Though something I might plain," he said,
" Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I staid ;

Part we in friendship from your land,

And, noble Earl, receive my hand." —
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: —

" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still

Be open at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er

Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,

From turret to foundation-stone —

The hand of Douglas is his own :

And never shall in friendly grasp

The hand of such as Marmion clasp." —

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And — " This to me !" he said, —
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head !
And first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,

Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)

I tell thee, thou'rt defied !
And if thou said'st, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! "
Ou tiie Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age :
Fierce he broke forth: — "And dar'st thou

then
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall]
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? — ■
No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no ! —
Up drawbridge, grooms— what, Warder, ho !

Let the portcullis fall." —

1S4 MAIUIIOIT. [Canto VI.

Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need !
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the arch- way sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,

Just as it trembled on the rise;

Not lighter does the swallow skim

Along the smooth lake's level brim

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts, and turns with clenched hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

" Horse ! horse !" the Douglas cried, "and chase ! "

But soon he reined his fury's pace:

" A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.—

A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed !

Did ever knight so foul a deed !

At first in heart it liked me ill,

When the king praised his clerkly skill.

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line:

So swore I, and I swear it still,

Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. —

Saint Mary mend my fiery mood !

Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,

I thought to slay him where he stood.

'Tis pity of him too," he cried ;

" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride :

I warrant him a warrior tried. " —

With this his mandate he recalls,

And slowly seeks his castle halls.

The day in Marmion's journey wore;
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er,
They crossed the heights of Stanrig-moor.
His troop more closely there he scanned,
And missed the Palmer from the band. —
" Palmer or not," young Blount did say,
" He parted at the peep of day;
Good sooth, it was in strange array." —
"In what array %" said Marmion, quick.
*.' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ;
But all night long, with clink and bang,
Close to my couch did hammers clang ;
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang,
And from a loop-hole while I peep,
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep,
Wrapped in a gown of sables fair,
As fearful of the morning air;

Canto VI]

185

Beneath, when that was blown aside,

A rusty shirt of mail I spied

By Archibald won in bloody work,

Against the Saracen and Turk:

Last night it hung not in the hall ;

I thought some marvel would befall.

And next I saw them saddled lead

Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ;

A matchless horse, though something old,

Prompt to his paces, cool and bold.

I heard the Sheriff Skolto say,

The Earl did much the Master * pray

To use him on the battle day;

But he preferred "— " Nay, Henry, cease !

Thou sworn horse- courser, hold thy peace.

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray,

What did Blount see at break of day ? " —

"In brief, my lord, we both descried
(For I then stood by Henry's side) _
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride,

Upon the Earl'p own favourite steed ;
All sheathed he v. as in armour bright,
And much resembled that same knight,
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight :

Lord Angus wished him speed." —
The instant that Fitz- Eustace spoke,
A sudden light on Marmion broke; —
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost !"
He muttered, " 'Twas nor fay nor ghost,
I met upon the moonlight wold,
But living man of earthly mould. —

0 dotage blind and gross !
Had. I but fought as wont, one thrus=t
Had laid De Wilton in the dust,

My path no more to cross. — _
How stand we now ? — he told his tale
To Douglas ; and with some avail ;

'Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow.
Will Surrey dare to entertain,
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and
vain]

Small risk of that, I trow. —
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ;
Must separate Constance from the Nun —

0 what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive ! —
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why

1 felt rebuked beneath his eye:

I might have known there was but one,
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion."—

* His eldest son, tho Master of Angus.

1S6 MARMION. {Canto VI.

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed
His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed,
Where Lennel's convent closed their march.
(There now is left but one frail arch,

Yet mourn thou not its cells ;
Our time a fair exchange has madej
Hard by, in hospitable shade,

A reverend pilgrim dwells,
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood,
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.)
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbott there
Give Marmion entertainment fair,
And lodging for his train and Clare.
Next morn the Baron climbed the tower,
To view afar the Scottish power,

Encamped on Flodden edge:
The white pavilions made a show,
Like remnants of the winter snow,

Along the dusky ridge.
Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye
Unusual movement might descry

Amid the shifting lines :
The Scottish host drawn out appears,
For, flashing on the hedge of spears,

The eastern sun-beam shines.
Their front now deepening, now extending ;
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,
Now drawing back, and now descending,
The skilful Marmion well could know,
They watched the motions of some foe,
Who traversed on the plain below.

Even so it was ; — from Flodden ridge
The Scots beheld the English host
Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,
And heedful watched them as they crossed
The Till by Twisel Bridge.

High sight it is, and haughty, while
They dive into the deep defile ;
Beneath the caverned cliff they fall,
Beneath the castle's airy wall.

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree,
Troop after troop are disappearing ;
Troop after troop their banners rearing,

Upon the eastern bank you see.
Still pouring down the rocky den,

Where flows the sullen Till,
And rising from the dim-wood glen,
Standards on standards, men on men,

In slow succession still,
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,
And pressing on, in ceaseless march,

Canto 71.1 MARMION. 1S7

To gain the opposing Mil.
That morn, to many a trumpet-clang,
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ;
And many a chief of birth and rank,
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank.
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly,
Had then from many an axe its doom,
To give the marching columns room.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the while,
And struggles through the deep defile 1
What checks the fiery soul of James 1
Why sits that champion of the dames

Inactive on his steed,
And sees, between him and his land,
Between him and Tweed's southern strand,

His host Lord Surrey lead ]
What vails the vain knight-errant's brand ]-
0, Douglas, for thy leading wand !

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed !
0 for one hour of Wallace wight,
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight,
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right ! "
Another sight had seen that morn,
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
And Flodden had been Bannock-bourne ! —
The precious hour has passed in vain,
And England's host has gained the plain ;
Wheeling their march, and circling still,
Around the base of Flodden-hill.

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye,
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, —
" Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English drum !
And see ascending squadrons come

Between Tweed's river and the hill,
Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap,
My basnet to a prentice cap,

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till ! —
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair arrayed
They file from out the hawthorn shade,

And sweep so gallant by !
With all their banners bravely spread,

And all their armour flashing high,
Saint George might waken from the dead,

To see fair England's standards fly. " —
" Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount ; " thoud'st best,
And listen to our lord's behest." —
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, —
" This instant be our band arrayed ;

1S8 MAIWIIOiS-. [Canto VJ.

The river must be quickly crossed,
That we. may join Lord Surrey's host.
If fight King James, — as well I trust,
That fight he will, and fight he must, —
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." —

Himself he swift on horseback threw,
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ;
Far less would listen to his prayer,
To leave behind the helpless Clare.
Down to the Tweed his band he drew,
And muttered as the flood they view,
" The pheasant in the falcon's claw,
He scarce will yield to please a daw :
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe,

So Clare shall bide with me."
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep,
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep,

He ventured desperately :
And not a moment will he bide,
Till squire, or groom, before him ride ;
Headmost of all he stems the tide,

And stems it gallantly.
Eustace held Clare upon her horse,

Old Hubert led her rein,
Stoutly they braved the current's course,
And though far downward driven perforce,

The southern bank they gain ;
Behind them, straggling, came to shore,

As best they might, the train :
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore,

A caution not in vain :
Deep need that day that every string,
By wet unharmed, should sharply ring.
A moment then Lord Marmion stayed,
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed,

Then forward moved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won,
He halted by a cross of stone,
That, on a hillock standing lone,

Did all the field command.

Hence might they see the full array

Of either host, for deadly fray ;

Their marshalled lines stretched east and west,

And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation past

From the loud cannon mouth ;
Not in the close successive rattle,
That breathes the voice of modern battle,

But slow and far between. —

Canto F/.] MABMIOX. 1S9

The hillock gained, Lord Mamiion stayed :
" Ilere, by this cross," he gently said,

" You well may view the scene ;
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare :
0! think of Marmion in thy prayer !—
Thou wilt not '! — well, — no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. —
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,

With ten picked archers of my train ;
"With England if the day go hard,

To Berwick speed amain. —
But, if we conquer, cruel maid !
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,

When here we meet again."
He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair

Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire ; but spurred amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,

His way to Surrey took.

" The good Lord Marmion, by my life !

Welcome to danger's hour ! —
Short greeting serves in time of strife : —

Thus have I ranged my power :
Myself will rule this central host,

Stout Stanley fronts their right,
My sons command the vaward post,

With Brian Tunstall, stainless kni:1 it ;

Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light,

Shall be in rear-ward of the fight,
And succour those that need it most.

Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,

Would gladly to the vanguard go ;
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there,
With thee their charge will blithely share ;
There fight thine own retainers too,
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." —
" Thanks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said;
Nor further greeting there he paid ;
But, parting like a thunder-bolt,
First in the vanguard made a halt,

Where such a shout there rose,
Of " Marmion ! Marmion !" that the cry
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,

Startled the Scottish foes.

XXV.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill ;
On which (for far the day was spent.)
The western sun-beams now were bent.
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant eomrades view :

190 HARM ION. [Canto VI

Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
" Unworthy office here to stay !
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. —
But, see ! look up — on Flodden bent,
The Scottish foe has fired his tent. " —

And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,

Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,

As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march ; their tread alone.
At times one warning trumpet blown,

At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne

King James did rushing come. —
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close. —
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ;

And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth.

And fiends in upper air ;
0 life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye
Could in the darkness nought descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast ;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appeara ;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white sea-mew,
Then marked they, dashing broad and far
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave ;

But nought distinct they see :
Wide raged the battle on the plain ;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain ;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; _
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,

Wild and disorderly.
Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw lord Marmion's falcon fly :
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight ;

Although against them come,

Canto YL] MAKMION. 101

Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntley, and with Home.

XXVII.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,
And with both hands the broad-sword plied:
'Twas vain : — But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,

The Howard's lion fell;
Tet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew

Around the battle yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky !
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry,

Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose;
As. bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,

It wavered mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could bear:—
" By heaven, and all its saints, I swear,

I will not see it lost !
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,—

I gallop to the host."
And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large, —

The rescued banner rose, —
But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,

It sunk among the foes.
Then Eustace mounted too; — yet stayed,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,

When, fast as shaft can fly,
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by;
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,

A look and sign to Clara cast,

To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into ihe fight.

XXVIII.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone :

1S2 MARMION. [Canto VI.

Perchance her reason stoops, or reels;

Perchance a courage, not her own,

Brace's her mind to desperate tone. —
The scattered van of England wheels ; —

She only said, as loud in air

The tumult roared, " Is Wilton there ?" —

They fly, or, maddened by despair,

Fight but to die. — " Is "Wilton there?"—
With that, straight up the hill there rode

Two horsemen drenched with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.
His hand still strained the broken brand;
His arms were smeared with blood and sand:
Dragged from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . .
Young Blount his armour did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said — " By Saint George, he's gone !
That spear-wound has our master sped,
And see the deep cut on his head !

Good night to Marmion." —
" Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease:
He opes his eyes," said Eustace; " peace! " —

When, doffed his casque, he felt free air,
Around gan Marmion wildly stare: —

" Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where?

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare !

K-edeem my pennon, — charge again !

Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Yain ! ■

Last of my race, on battle plain

That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! —

Yet my last thought is England's : — fly,
To Lacre bear my signet-ring;
Tell him his squadrons up to bring: —

Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;
Tunstall lies dead upon the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield:
Edmund is down; — my life is reft; —
The Admiral alone is left.
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, —
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost. —
Must I bid twice? — hence, varlets ! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." —
They parted, and alone he lay;
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured, — " Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,

Canlo VI.} MARMION. 1 S3

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water, from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst ! " —

0, woman ! in our hour3 of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou !—
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid

To the nigh streamlet ran :
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,

Sees but the dying man.
She stooped her by the runnel's side,

But in abhorrence backward drew;
For, oozing from the mountain's side,
Where raged the war, a dark red tide

Was curdling in the streamlet blue.
Where shall she turn ! — behold her murk

A little fountain cell,
Where water, clear as diamond-spark,

In a stone basin fell.
Above, some half- worn letters say,
Brinft. torarp. pilgrim. Drinft. ant), pvan.
jFor. tfjr. feinS. soul. of. Ssbil. (Krrg.

SHfoo, built, this, tross. ano. torll.
She filled the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied

A Monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought,
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrievo the dying, bless the dead.

XXXI.

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,
And, as she stooped his brow to lave—
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said,
" Or injured Constance, bathes my head ! '

Then, as remembrance rose, —
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer !

I must redress her woes.
Short space, few words, are mine to spare;
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! "

" Alas ! " she said, " the while, —
O think of your immortal weal !
In vain for Constance is your zeal;

She died at Holy Isle."

Lord Marmion started from the ground,
As light as if he felt no wound;
Though in the action burst the tide,
In torrents, from his wounded side.

13

iy4 MAEMION. [Canto VI.

" Then it was trutli ! " — he said — " I knew
That the dark presage must be true. —
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs
The vengeance due to all her wrongs,

Would spare me but a day !
For wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar stone,
Might bribe him for delay.
It may not be ! — this dizzy trance —
Curse on yon base marauder's lance,
And doubly cursed my failing brand !
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." —
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk,
Supported by the trembling Monk.

With fruitless labour, Clara bound,

And strove to stanch, the gushing wound :

The Monk, with unavailing cares,

Exhausted all the Church's prayers.

Ever, he said, that, close and near,

A lady's voice was in his ear,

And that the priest he could not hear,

For that she ever sung,
" In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle with groans of
the dying I "

So the notes rung; —
" Avoid thee, Fiend! — with cruel hand,
Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! —
0 look, my son, upon yon sign
Of the Redeemer's grace divine;

0 think on faith and bliss ! —
By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,

But never aught like this." —
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,

And — Stanley ! was the cry; —
A light on Marmion's visage spread,

And fired his glazing eye :
With dying hand, above his head
He shook the fragment of his blade,

And shouted " Victory! —
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" .
Were the last words of Marmion.

By this, though deep the evening fell,
Still rose the battle's deadly swelh
For still the Scots, around their king,
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.
Where's now their victor vaward wing,
Where Huntly, and where Home 1 —

Canto 17. J MAHMION. 1S5

0 for a blast of that dread horn,
On Fontarabian echoes borne,

That to King Charles did come,
When Rowland brave, and Oliver,
And every paladin and peer,

On Roncesvalles died !
Such blast might warn them, not in vain,
To quit the plunder of the slain,
And turn the doubtful day again,

While yet on Flodden side,
Afar, the Royal Standard flies,
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies,

Our Caledonian pride !
In vain the wish — for far away,
While spoil and havoc mark their way,
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. —
" 0, Lady," cried the Monk, " away ! " —

And placed her on her steed;
And led her to the chapel fair,

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed.
There all the night they spent in prayer,
And, at the dawn of morning, there
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.

But as they left the dark'ning heath,
More desperate grew the strife of death.
The English shafts in volleys hailed,
lu headlong charge their horse assailed;
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep,
To break the Scottish circle deep,

That fought around their king.
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,

Unbroken was the ring;
The stubborn spear-men still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,
Each stepping where his comrade stood,

The instant that he fell.
No thought was there of dastard flight ; —
Linked in the i-erried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,

As fearlessly and well ;
Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded king.
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shattered bands;

And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,

Sweep back to ocean blue.
Then did their loss his foemen know ;
Their king, their lords, their mightiest, low,
They melted from the field as snow,
When streams are swuln and south winds blou

Dissolves in silent clew.

19G MARMION. [Canto VI.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,

While many a broken baud,
Disordered, through her currents dash,

To gain the Scottish land ;
To town and tower, to down and dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song,
Shall many an age that wail prolong :
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear,

Of Flodden's fatal field,
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,

And broken was her shield !

Day dawns upon the mountain's side : —
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride,
Chiefs, knights, aud nobles, niany a one .;
The sad survivors all are gone. —
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be j
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding eye ;

Nor cherish hope in vain,
That, journeying far on foreign strand,
The Royal Pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ;
Reckless of life, he desperate fought,

And fell on Flodden plain :
And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clenched within his mauly hand,

Beseemed the monarch slain.
But, oh ! how changed since yon blitho

night !—
Gladly I turn me from the sight,

Unto my tale again.

Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care
A pierced and mangled body bare
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ;
And there, beneath the southern aisle,
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair,
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear.
(Now vainly for its site you look ;
'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook
The fair cathedral stormed and took ;
But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad,
A guerdon meet the spoiler had !)
There erst was martial Marmion found,
His feet upon a couchant hound,
His bands to heaven upraised ;

Canto T7.J MARMION. 197

And all around, on scutcheon rich,
And tablet carved, and fretted niche,

His arms and feats were blazed.
And yet, though all was carved so fair,
And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer,
The last Lord Marmion lay not there.
From Ettricke woods, a peasant swain
Followed his lord to Flodden plain, —
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay
In Scotland mourns as " wede away :"
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied,
And dragged him to its foot, and died,
Close by the noble Marmion's side.
The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain,
And thus their corpses were mista'en ;
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb,
The lowly woodsman took the room.

Less easy task it were, to show
Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low.
They dug his grave e'en where he lay,

But every mark is gone ;
Time's wasting hand has done away
The simple Cross of Sybil Grey,
And broke her font of stone :
But yet from out the little hill
Oozes the slender springlet still.

Oft halts the stranger there,
For thence may best his curious eye
The memorable field descry ;
And shepherd boys repair
To seek the water-flag and rush,
And rest them by the hazel bush,

And plait their garlands fair ;
Nor dream they sit upon the grave,
That holds the bones of Marmion brave.—
When thou shalt find the little hill,
"With thy heart commune, and be still.
If ever, in temptation strong,
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong ;
If every devious step, thus trode,
Still led thee further from the road ;
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom,
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ;
But say, " He died a gallant knight,
With sword in hand, for England's right."

XXX.VIII.

I do not rhyme to that dull elf,

Who cannot image to himself,

That all through Flodden's dismal night,

Wilton was foremost in the fight;

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain,

'Twas Wilton mounted him again ;

198 MARMION. {Canto Yl

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hewed

Amid the spearmen's stubborn woed:

Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall,

He was the living soul of all;

That, after fight, his faith made plain, ]

He won his rank and lands again ;

And charged his old paternal shield

With bearings won on Flodden field.—

Nor sing I to that simple maid,

To whom it must in terms be said,

That king and kinsmen did agree,

To bless fair Clara's constancy ;

Who cannot, unless I relate,

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ;

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke,

More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke:

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew,

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw ;

And afterwards, for many a day,

That it was held enough to say,

In blessing to a wedded pair,

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare ! "

TO THE READEK.

Why then a final note prolong,

Or lengthen out a closing song,

Unless to bid the gentles speed,

Who long have listed to my rede ]* —

To Statesman grave, if such may deign

To read the Minstrel's idle strain,

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit,

And patriotic heart — as Pitt !

A gai'land for the hero's crest,

And twined by her he loves the best;

To every lovely lady bright,

What can I wish but faithful knight 1

To every faithful lover too,

What can I wish but lady true 1

And knowledge to the studious sage ;

And pillow soft to head of age.

To thee, dear school- boy, whom my lay

Has cheated of thy hour of play,

Light task, and merry holiday !

To all, to each, a fair good night,

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.

Used generally for tale, or discourse.

TilE

LADY OF THE LAKE.

IN SIX CANTOS.

TO
THE MOST NOBLE

JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCOM,

TniS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.

ARGUMENT.

[The scene of the following poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch
Katrine, In the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of
action includes six days, and the transactions of each day occupy a
Canto.]

THE

LADY OF THE LAKE.

CANTO FIRST.

THE CHASE.

Harp of ^he North ! that mouldering long Last Lung

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring,
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,

Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, —

0 minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ?
'Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ?

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon,

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd,
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won,

Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud.
At each according pause, was heard aloud

Thine ardent symphony sublime and high !
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ;

For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's
matchless eye.

0 wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ;
0 wake once more ! though scarce my skill command

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay :
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain,
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway,

The wizard note has not been touched in vain.
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again !

102 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. {Canto 1

The Stag at eve had drunk Lis fill,

Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,

And deep his midnight lair had made

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;

But, when the sun his beacon red

Had kindled on JBenvoirlich's head,

The deep-mouthed blood-hound's heavy bay

Resounded up the rocky way,

And faint, from further distance borne,

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.

ii.

As Chief, who hears his warder call,
" To arms ! the foemen storm the wall,"
The antlered monarch of the waste
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste.
But, ere his fleet career he took,
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ;
Like crested leader proud and high,
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
A moment listened to the cry,
That thickened as the cbase drew nigh ;
Then, as the headmost foes appeared.
With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
And, stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

in.

Yelled on the view the opening pack,
Rock glen and cavern paid them back ;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountain gave response.
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
Clattered an hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung out,
An hundred voices joined the shout;
With hark and whoop and wild halloo,
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in her covert cowered the doe,
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failing din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

IV.

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var,

Canto /.] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 203

And roused the cavern, where 'tis told
A giant made his den of old ;
For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
A nd many a gallant, stayed per-force,
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ;
And of the trackers of the deer
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ;
So shrewdly, on the mountain side,
Had the bold burst their mettle tried.

The noble Stag was pausing now,
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.
With anxious eye he wandered o'er
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
And pondered refuge from his toil,
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
But nearer was the copse-wood grey,
That waved and wept on Loch Achray,
And mingled with the pine-trees blue
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue.
Fresh vigour with the hope returned,
With flying foot the heath he spurned,
Held westward with unwearied race,
And left behind the panting chase.

'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er,
As swept the hunt through Cambus-more;
What reins were tightened in despair,
When rose Benledi's ridge in air;
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath,
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, —
For twice, that day, from shore to shore,
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.
Few were the stragglers, following far,
That reached the lake of Vennachar;
And when the Brig of Turk was won,
The headmost horseman rode alone.

Alone, but with unbated zeal,

That horseman plied the scourge and steel;

For, jaded now, and spent with toil,

Embossed with foam, and dark with soil,

While every gasp with sobs he drew,

The labouring stag strained full in view.

Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,

Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed,

Fast on hi3 flying traces came,

And all but won that desperate game;

204 . THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto I.

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch,

Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds stanch;

Nor nearer might the dogs attain,

Nor further might the quarry strain.

Thus up the margin of the lake,

Between the precipice and brake,

O'er stock ana rock their race they take.

The hunter marked that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,
And deemed the stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barred the way;
Already glorying in the prize,
Measured his antlers with his eyes;
For the death- wound, and death-halloo,
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew;
But thundering as he came prepared,
With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunned the shock,
And turned him from the opposing rock ;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trosach's wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.
There while, close couched, the thicket shed
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head,
He heard the baffled dogs in vain
Kave through the hollow pass amain,
Chiding the rocks, that yelled again.

Close on the hounds the hunter came,
To cheer them on the vanished game;
But, stumbling in the rugged dell,
The gallant horse exhausted fell.
The impatient rider strove in vain
To rouse him with the spur and rein,
For the good steed, his labours o'er,
Stretched his stiff limbs to rise no more;
Then, touched with pity and remorse,
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.
" I little thought, when first thy rein
I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
That Highland eagle e'er should feed
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed !
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,
That costs thy life, my gallant grey ! " —

Then through the dell his horn resounds,
From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
Back limped, with slow and crippled pace,
The sulky leaders of the chase;

Canto /.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 205

Close to their master's side they pressed.
With drooping tail and humbled crest;
But still the dingle's hollow throat
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.
The owlets started from their dream,
The eagles answered with their scream,
Round and around the sounds were cast,
Till echo seemed an answering blast;
And on the hunter hied his way,
To join some comrades of the day;
Yet often paused, so strange the road,
So wondrous were the scenes it showed.

The western waves of ebbing day
Rolled o'er the glen their level way ;
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire.
But not a setting beam could glow-
Within the dark ravines below,
Where twined the path, in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the tower which builders vaia
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
The rocky summits, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battlement,
Or seemed fantastically set
With cupola or minaret,
Wild crests as pagod ever decked,
Or mosque of eastern architect.
Nor were these earth-born castles bare,
Nor lacked they many a banner fair;
For, from their shivered brows displayed
Far o'er the unfathomable glade,
All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen,
The briar-rose fell in streamers green,
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,
Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

Boon nature scattered, free and wild,
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.
Here eglantine embalmed the air,
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale, and violet ilower,
Found in each cliff a narrow bower; _
Fox-glove and ni^ht-shade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Grouped their dark hues with every
The weather-beaten crags retain.

206 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [Canto I

With boughs that quaked at every breath,

Grey birch and aspen wept beneath;

Aloft, the ash and warrior oak

Cast anchor in the rifted rock;

And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung

His shattered trunk, and frequent flung,

Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,

His boughs athwart the narrowed sky.

Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,

Where glistening streamers waved and danced,

The wanderer's eye could barely view

The summer heaven's delicious' blue;

So wondrous wild, the whole might seem

The scenery of a fairy dream.

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep
A narrow inlet still and deep,
Affording scarce such breadth of brim,
As served the wild-duck's brood to swim;
Lost for a space, through thickets veering,
But broader when again appearing,
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace;
And further as the hunter strayed,
Still broader sweep its channels made.
The shaggy mounds no longer stood,
Emerging from entangled wood,
But, wave-encircled, seemed to float,
Like castle girdled with its moat;
Yet broader floods extending still,
Divide them from their parent hill,
Till each, retiring, claims to be
An islet in an inland sea.

And now, to issue from the glen,

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken,

Unless he climb, with footing nice,

A far projecting precipice.

The broom's tough roots his ladder made,

The hazel saplings lent their aid;

And thus an airy point he won,

Where, gleaming with the setting sun,

One burnished sheet of living gold,

Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled;

In all her length far winding lay,

With promontory, creek, and bay,

And islands that, empurpled bright,

Floated amid the livelier light;

And mountains, that like giants stand,

To sentinel enchanted land.

High on the south, huge Benvenue

Down to the lake in masses threw

Canto /.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 207

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled,
The fragments of an earlier world;
A wildering forest feathered o'er
His ruined sides and summit hoar,
While on the north, through middle air,
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.

From the steep promontory gazed

The stranger, raptured and amazed.

And, " What a scene were here," he cried,

" For princely pomp or churchman's pride !

On this bold brow, a lordly tower;

In that soft vale, a lady's bower;

On yonder meadow, far away,

The turrets of a cloister grey.

How blithely might the bugle-horn

Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn !

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute

Chime, when the groves were still and mute

And, when the midnight moon should lave

Her forehead in the silver wave,

How solemn on the ear would come

The holy matin's distant hum,

While the deep peal's commanding tone

Should wake, in yonder islet lone,

A sainted hermit from his cell,

To drop a bead with every knell —

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all,

Should each bewildered stranger call

To friendly feast, and lighted hall.

xvi.
" Blythe were it then to wander here !
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, —
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare,
The copse must give my evening fare;
Some mossy bank my couch must be,
Some rustling oak my canopy.
Yet pass we that; — the war and chase
Give little choice of resting-place; —
A summer night, in green wood spent,
Were but to-morrow's merriment;
But hosts may in these wilds abound,
Such as are better missed than found;
To meet with Highland plunderers here
Were worse than loss of steed or deer.—
I am alone ; — my bugle strain
Way call some straggler of the train;
Or, fall the worst that may betide,
Ere now this falchion has been tried."

XVII.

But scarce again his horn he wound.
When lo ! forth starting at the souDd,

208 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [Canto J.

From underneath an aged oak,

That slanted from the islet rock,

A Damsel guider of its way,

A little skiff shot to the bay,

That round the promontory steep

Led. its deep line in graceful sweep,

Eddying, in almost viewless wave,

The weeping willow twig to lave,

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,

The beach of pebbles bright as snow.

The boat had touched this silver strand.

Just as the Hunter left his stand,

And stood concealed amid the brake,

To view this Lady of the Lake.

The maiden paused, as if again

She thought to catch the distant strain.

With head up-raised, and look intent,

And eye and ear attentive bent,

And locks flung back, and lips apart,

Like monument of Grecian art,

In listening mood, she seemed to stand

The guardian Naiad of the strand.

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace

A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,

Of finer form, or lovelier face !

What though the sun, with ardent frown,

Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — ■

The sportive toil, which, short and light,

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,

Served too in hastier swell to show

Short glimpses of a breast of snow :

What though no rule of courtly grace

To measured mood had trained her pace, —

A foot more light, a step more true,

Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew;

E'eu the slight hare-bell raised its head,

Elastic from her airy tread :

What though upon her speech there hung

The accents of the mountain tongue, —

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,

The list'ner held his breath to hear.

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ;

Her satin snood, her silken plaid,

Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed.

And seldom was a snood amid

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid,

Whose glossy black to shame might bring

The plumage of the raven's wing ;

And seldom o'er a breast so fair,

Mantled a plaid with modest care,

Canto /.] TIIE LADY OF TUE LAKE 203

And never brooch the folds combined
Above a heart more good and kind.
Her kindness and her worth to spy,
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ;
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue,
Gives back the shaggy banks more true,
Than every free-born glance confessed
The guileless movements of her breast ;
Whether joy danced in her dark eye,
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh,
Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion poured a prayer,
Or tale of injury called forth
The indignant spirit of the north.
One only passion, unrevealed,
With maiden pride the maid concealed,
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; —
0 need I tell that passion's name !

Impatient of the silent horn,

Now on the gale her voice was borne : —

" Father !" she cried ; the rocks around

Loved to prolong the gentle sound.

A while she paused, no answer came, —

"Malcolm, was thine (he blast ! " the name

Less resolutely uttered fell,

The echoes could not catch the swell.

" A stranger I," the Huntsman said,

Advancing from the hazel shade.

The maid alarmed, with hasty oar,

Pushed her light shallop from the shore,

And when a space was gained between,

Closer she drew her bosom screen ;

(So furth the startled swan would swing,

So turn to prune his ruffled wing,)

Then safe, though fluttered and amazed,

She paused, and on the stranger gazed.

Not his the form, nor his the eye,

That youthful maidens wont to fly.

On his bold visage middle age
Hal slightly pressed its signet sage,
Yet had not quenched the open truth,
And fiery vehemence of youth ;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
Of hasty love, or headlon; ire.
His limbs were cast in manly mould,
For hardy sports, or contest bold ;
And though in peaceful garb arrayed,
And weaponless, except his blade,

14

210 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canlo L

His stately mien as well implied

A high-born heart, a martial pride,

As if a baron's crest he wore,

And sheathed in armour trod the shore.

Slightipg the petty need he showed.

He told of his benighted road ;

His ready speech flowed fair and free,

In praise of gentlest courtesy ;

Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland,

Less used to sue than to command.

A while the maid the Stranger eyed
And, reassured, at last replied,
That Highland halls were open still
To wildered wanderers of the hill.
" Nor think you unexpected come
To yon lone isle, our desert home ;
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn, a couch was pulled for you ;
On yonder mountain's purple head
Hare ptarmigan and heath-cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere,
To furnish forth your evening cheer." —
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid,
Your courtesy has erred," he said ;
" No right have I to claim, misplaced,
The welcome of expected guest.
A wanderer here, by fortune tost,
My way, my friends, my courser lost,
I ne'er before, believe me, fair,
Have ever drawn your mountain air,
Till on this lake's romantic strand,
I found a fay in fairy land. " —

" I well believe," the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the side,
" I well believe, that ne'er before
Your foot has trod Loch-Katrine's shore
But yet, as far as yesternight,
Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, —
A grey-haired sire, whose eye intent
Was on the visioned future bent.
He saw your steed, a dappled grey,
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ;
Painted exact your form and mien,
Your hunting suit of Lincoln green,
That tasselled horn so gaily gilt,
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,
That cap with heron's plumage trim.
And yon two hounds so dark and grim.
He bade that all should ready be,
To grace a guest of fair degree ;
But light I held his prophecy,

Cento /.] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 211

And deemed it was my father's horn,
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne." —

XX IT.

The Stranger smiled : — "' Since to your home,

A destined errant knight I come,

Announced by prophet sooth and old,

Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold,

I'll lightly front each high emprize,

For one kind glance of those bright eyes ;

Permit me, first, the task to guide

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." —

The maid, with smile suppressed and s!y,

The toil unwonted saw him try ;

For seldom, sure, if e'er before,

His noble hand had grasped an oar :

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew,

And o'er the lake the shallop flew ;

With heads erect, and whimpering cry,

The hounds behind their passage ply.

Nor frequent does the bright oar break

The darkening mirror of the lake,

Until the rocky isle they reach,

And moor their shallop on the beach.

XXV.

The Stranger viewed the shore around ;
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound,
Nor track nor path-way might declare
That human foot frequented there,
Until the mountain-maiden showed
A clambering unsuspected road,
That winded through the tangled screen,
A nd opened on a narrow green,
Where weeping birch and willow round
With their long fibres swept the ground ;
Here, fi>r retreat in dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.

It was a lodge of ample size,

B ut strange of structure and device ;

Of such materials, as around

The workman's hand had readiest found.

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks

bared,
And by the hatchet rudely squared,
To give the walls their destined height,
The sturdy oak and ash unite ;
While moss and clay and leaves combined
To fence each crevice from the wind.
The lighter pine-trees, over-head.
Their slender length for rafters spread,
And withered heath and rushes dry
Supplied a russet canopy.

212 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [.Canto 1.

Due westward, fronting to the green,

A rural portico was seen,

Aloft on native pillars borne,

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine

The ivy and Idsean vine,

The clematis, the favoured flower,

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,

And every hardy plant could bear

Loch-Katrine's keen and searching air.

An instant in this porch she stayed,

And gaily to the Stranger said,

" On heaven and on thy lady call,

And enter the enchanted hall ! " —

" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,

My gentle guide, in following thee." —

He crossed the threshold — and a clang

Of angry steel that instant rang.

To his bold brow his spirit rushed.

But soon for vain alarm he blushed,

When on the floor he saw displayed,

Cause of the din, a naked blade

Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung

Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ;

For all around, the walls to grace,

Hung trophies of the fight or chase :

A target there, a bugle here,

A battle-axe, a hunting spear,

And broad-swords, bows, and arrows store,

With the tusked trophies of the boar.

Here grins the wolf as when he died,

And there the wild-cat's brindled hide

The frontlet of the elk adorns,

Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ;

Pennons and flags defaced and stained,

That blackening streaks of blood retained,

And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white,

With otter's fur and seal's unite,

In rude and uncouth tapestry all,

To garnish forth the sylvan hall.

The wondering Stranger round him gazed,

And next the fallen weapon raised;—

Few were the arms whose sinewy strength

Sufficed to stretch it forth at length.

And as the brand he poised and swayed,

" I never knew but one," he said,

" Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield

A blade like this in battle field." —

She sighed, then smiled and took the word ;

" You see the guardian champion's sword ;

Canto I.] THE LADY OP TIIE LAKE. 213

As light it trembles in his hand,

As in my grasp a hazel wand ;

My sire's tall form might grace the part

Of Ferragus, or Ascabart ;

But in the absent giant's hold

Are women now, and menials old." —

The mistress of the mansion came,

Mature of age, a graceful dame;

Whose easy step and stately port

Had well become a princely court,

To whom, though more than kindred kne.v,

Young Ellen gave a mother's due.

Meet welcome to her guest she made,

And every courteous rite was paid,

That hospitality could claim,

Though all unasked his birth and name.

Such then the reverence to a guest,

That fellest foe might join the feast,

And from his deadliest foeman's door

Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er.

At length his rank the Stranger names,

" The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz- James ;

Lord of a barren heritage,

Which his brave sires, from age to age,

J3y their good swords had held with toil ;

His sire had fallen in such turmoil,

And he, God wot, was forced to stand

Oft for his right with blade in hand.

This morning with Lord Moray's train

He chased a stalwart stag in vain,

Out-stripped his comrades, missed the deer,

Lost his good steed, and wandered here."—

Fain would the Knight in turn require
The name and state of Ellen's sire;
Well showed the elder lady's mien,
That courts and cities she had seen;
Ellen, though more her looks displayed
The simple grace of sylvan maid,
In speech and gesture, form and face,
Showed she was come of gentle race;
'Twere strange in ruder rank to find
Such looks, such manners, and such mind.
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;
Or Ellen, innocently gay,
T urned all inquiry light away : —
" Wierd women we ! by dale and clown
We dwell, afar from tower and town.
We stem the flood, we ride the blast,
On wandering knights our spells we cast;

214 THE LADY OF T1IE LAKH. [Canto I.

While viewless minstrels touch the string,
'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." —
She sung, and still a harp unseen
Filled up the symphony between.

" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ;
Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

" No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

At the day-break from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." —

XXXII.

She paused — then, blushing, led the lay
To grace the stranger of the day;
Her mellow notes awhile prolong
The cadence of the flowing song,
Till to her lips in measured frame
The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

JSuirg jctmfnraeb'.

" Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done,

While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillie.
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ;

Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen,

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest ; thy chase is done.
Think not of the rising sun,

Canto T.] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 215

For at dawning to assail ye.
Here no bugles sound reveillie." —

The hall was cleared — the Stranger's bed

Was there of mountain heather spread,

Where oft an hundred guests had lain,

And dreamed their forest sports again.

13 ut vainly did the heath-flower shed

Its moorland fragrance round his head ;

Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest

The fever of his troubled breast.

In broken dreams the image rose

Of varied perils, pains, and woes ;

His steed now flounders in the brake,

Now sinks his barge upon the lake;

Now leader of a broken host,

His standard falls, his honour's lost.

Then, — from my couch may heavenly might

Chase that worst phantom of the night ! —

Again returned the scenes of youth,

Of confident undoubting truth ;

Again his soul he interchanged

With friends whose hearts were long estranged.

They come, in dim procession led,

The cold, the faithless, and the dead ;

As warm each hand, each brow as gay,

As if they parted yesterday.

And doubt distracts him at the view,

0 were his senses false or true !

Dreamed he of death, or broken vow,

Or is it all a vision now !

At length, with Ellen in a grove,

He seemed to walk, and speak of love;

She listened with a blush and sigh,

His suit was warm, his hopes were high.

He sought her yielded hand to clasp,

And a cold gauntlet met his grasp :

The phantom's sex was changed and gone,

Upon its head a helmet shone;

Slowly enlarged to giant size,

With darkened cheek and threatening eyes,

The grisly visage, stern and hoar,

To Ellen still a likeness bore. —

lie woke, and, panting with affright,

Recalled the vision of the night.

The hearth's decaying brands were red,

And deep and dusky lustre shed,

Half showing, half concealing all

The uncouth trophies of the hall.

Mid those the Stranger fixed his eye

Where that huge falchion hung on "high.

21(1 THE LADY OP THE LAKE, [Canto IT.

And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,
Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,
He rose, and sought the moon-shine pure.

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom,
Wasted around their rich perfume;
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm,
The aspens slept beneath the calm ;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Played on the water's still expanse, —
"Wild were the heart whose passion's sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray !
He felt its calm, that warrior guest,
While thus he communed with his breast :
" Why is it at each turn I trace
Some memory of that exiled race ?
Can I not mountain maiden spy,
But she must bear the Douglas eyel
Can I not view a Highland brand,
But it must match the Douglas hand !
Can I not frame a fevered dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme1?—
I'll dream no more — by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resigned.
My midnight orisons said o'er,
I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." —
His midnight orison he told,
A prayer with every bead of gold,
Consigned to heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturbed repose;
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawned on Benvenue.

CANTO SECOND.

TUB ISLAND.

At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing,

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay,
All Nature's children feel the matin spring

Of life reviving, with reviving day;
And while yon little bark glides down the bay,

Wafting the stranger on his way again,
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel grey,_

And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain,
Mix'd with the sounding harp, 0 white-haired Allan-
bane !

Canto II] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 217

'' Not faster yonder rowers' might
Flings from their oars the spray,

Not faster yonder rippling bright,

That tracks the shallop's course in light,
Melts in the lake away,

Than men from memory erase

The benefits of former days;

Then, Stranger, go ! good speed the while,

Nor think again of the lonely isle.

" High place to thee in royal court,

High place in battled line,
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport,
Where Beauty sees the brave resort,

The honoured meed be thine !
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,
Thy lady constant, kind and dear,
And lost in love's and friendship's smile,
Be memory of the lonely isle.

^ong totttimub.

" But if beneath yon southern sky

A plaided stranger roam,
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh,
And sunken cheek and heavy eye,

Pine for his Highland home;
Then, warrior, then be thine to show
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe;
Remember then thy hap ere while,
A stranger in the lonely isle.

" Or if on life's uncertain main

Mishap shall mar thy sail;
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain

Beneath the fickle gale;
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,
On thankless courts, or friends estranged,
But come where kindred worth shall siuiie,
To greet thee in the lonely isle." —

As died the sounds upon the tide,
The shallop reached the main-land side,
And ere his onward «ay he took,
The Stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The Harper on the islet beach,

518 T1IE LADY OF THE LAKE. {Camo If,

Reclined against a blighted tree,

As wasted, grey, and worn as he.

To minstrel meditation given,

His reverend brow was raised to heaven,

As from the rising sun to claim

A sparkle of inspiring flame.

His hand, reclined upon the wire,

Seemed watching the awakening fire;

So still he sate, as those who wait

Till judgment speak the doom of fate;

So still, as if no breeze might dare

To lift one lock of hoary hair;

So still, as life itself were fled,

In the last sound his harp had sped.

Opon a rock with lichens wild,
Beside him Ellen sate and smiled.
Smiled she to see the stately drake
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,
While her vexed spaniel, from the beach,
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach ]
Yet tell me then the maid who knows,
Why deepened on her cheek the rose 1 —
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity !
Perchance the maiden smiled to see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,
And stop and turn to wave anew;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire
Condemn the heroine of my lyre,
Show me the fair would scorn to spy,
And prize such conquest of her eye !

While yet he loitered on the spot,
It seemed as Ellen marked him not;
But when he turned him to the glade,
One courteous parting sign she made;
And after, oft the knight would say,
That not when prize of festal day
Was dealt him by the brightest fair,
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,
So highly did his bosom swell,
As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain guide,
And his dark stag-hounds by his side,
He parts— the maid, unconscious still,
Watched him wind slowly round the hill;
But when his stately form was hid,
The guardian in her bosom chid —
" Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid ! "
'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said,
" Not so had Malcolm idly hung
On the smooth phrase of southern tongue ;

Canto 11.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 219

Not so had Malcolm strained his eye,
Another step than thine to spy. —
Wake, Allan- bane," aloud she cried,
To the old Minstrel by her side,
" Arouse thee from thy moody dream !
I'll give thy heart heroic theme,
And warm thee with a noble name;
Pour forth the glory of the Grseme." —
Scarce from her lip the word had rushed,
When deep the conscious maiden blushed;
For of his clan, in hall and bower,
Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.

The Minstrel waked his harp — three times

Arose the well-known martial chimes,

And thrice their high heroic pride

In melancholy murmurs died.

— " Vainly thou bidst, 0 noble maid,"

Clasping his withered hands, he said,

" Vainly thou bidst me wake the strain,

Though all unwont to bid in vain.

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand

lias tuned my h^rp, my strings has spanned !

I touch the chords of joy, but low

And mournful answer notes of woe;

And the proud march which victors tread,

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. —

0 well for me, if mine alone

That dirge's deep prophetic tone !

If, as my tuneful fathers said,

This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed,

Can thus its master's fate foretell,

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell !

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed

The eve thy sainted mother died;

And such the sounds which, while I strove

To wake a lay of war or love,

Came marring all the festal mirth,

Appalling me who gave them birth,

And, disobedient to my call,

Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall,

Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven,

Were exiled from their native heaven. —

Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe

My master's hou^e must undergo,

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair,

Brood in these accents of despair,

No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling

Triumph or rapture from thy string;

One short, one final strain shall flow,

Fraught with unutterable woe,

220 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IL

Then shivered shall thy fragments lie,
Thy master cast him down and die." —

Soothing she answered him, " Assuage,

Mine honoured friend, the fears of age;

All melodies to thee are known,

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown,

In Lowland vale or Highland glen,

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then,

At times, unbidden notes should rise,

Confusedly bound in memory's ties,

Entangling, as they rush along,

The war-march with the funeral song? —

Small ground is now for boding fear;

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here.

My sire, in native virtue gi-eat,

Resigning lordship, lands, and state,

Not then to fortune more resigned,

Than yonder oak might give the wind ;

The graceful foliage storms may reave,

The noble stem they cannot grieve.

For me," — she stooped, and, looking round,

Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground,

" For me, whose memory scarce conveys

An image of more splendid days,

This little flower, that loves the lea,

May well my simple emblem be ;

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose

That in the King's own garden grows,

And when I place it in my hair,

Allan, a bard is bound to swear

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." —

Then playfully the chaplet wild

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway.
Wiled the old harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw
When angels stoop to soothe their woe,
lie gazed, till fond regret and pride
Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied :
" Loveliest and best! thou little know'st
The rank, the honours thou hast lost !
O might I live to see thee grace,
In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place,
To see my favourite's step advance,
The lightest in the courtly dance,
The cause of every gallant's sigh,
And leading star of every eye,
And theme of every minstrel's art,
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!"*—

The well-known cognizance of the Douglas family.

Canto II.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 221

" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried,
(Light was her accent, yet she sighed,)
" Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy;
Nor would my footstep spring more gay
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey,
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline
To royal minstrel's lay as thine;
And then for suitors proud and high,
To bend before my conquering eye,
Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say,
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride,
The terror of Loch- Lomond's side,
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay
A Lennox foray— for a day." —

The ancient bard his glee repressed:

" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest!

For who, through all this western wild,

Named .Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled !

In Holy-Rood a knight he slew;

I saw, when back the dirk he drew,

Cuurtiers gave place before the stride

Of the undaunted homicide;

And since, though outlawed, hath his hand

Full sternly kept his mountain land.

Who else dared give, — ah ! woe the day,

That I su?h hated truth should say —

The Douglas, like a stricken deer,

Disowned by every noble peer,

Even the rude refuge we have here 1

Alas, this wild marauding chief

Alone might hazard our relief,

And now thy maiden charms expand,

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand;

Full soon may dispensation sought,

To back his suit, from Rome be brought.

Then, though an exile on the hill,

Thy father, as the Douglas, still

Be held in reverence and fear;

And though to Roderick thou'rt so clear,

That thou might'st guide with silken thread,

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread;

Yet, 0 loved maid, thy mirth refrain !

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." —

" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high
Her father's soul glanced from her eye,

222 THE LADX OP THE LAKE. [Canic II

" My debts to Eoderick's house I know
All that a mother could bestow,
To Lady Margaret's care I owe,
Since first an orphan in the wild
She sorrowed o'er her sister's child;
To her brave chieftain sod, from ire
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire,
A deeper, holier debt is owed;
And, could I pay it with my blood,
Allan ! Sir Roderick should command
My blood, my life, — but not my hand.
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ;
Rather through realms beyond the sea,
Seeking the world's cold charity,
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word,
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard,
An outcast pilgrim will she rove,
Than wed the man she cannot love.

" Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses grey-
That pleading look, what can it say
But what I own 1 — I grant him brave,
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave;
And generous — save vindictive mood,
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood:
I grant him true to friendly band,
As his claymore is to his hand;
But 0 ! that very blade of steel
More mercy for a foe would feel:
I grant him liberal, to fling
Among his clan the wealth they bring,
When back by lake and glen they wind,
And in the Lowland leave behind,
Where once some pleasant hamlet stood,
A mass of ashe3 slaked with blood.
The hand that for my father fought,
I honour, as his daughter ought;
But can I clasp it reeking red,
From peasants slaughtered in their shed]
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam,
They make his passions darker seem,
And flash along his spirit high,
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky.
While yet a child, — and children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — ■
I shuddered at his brow of gloom,
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume;
A maiden grown, I ill could bear
His haughty mien and lordly air;
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim,
In serious mood, to Roderick's name,
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er
A Douglas knew the word, with fear.

Canto II.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 2CJ

To change such odious theme were best, —
What think'st thou of our stranger guest ?" —

" What think I of him ? — woe the while
That brought such wanderer to our isle !
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,
What time he leagued, no longer foes,
His Border spears with Hotspur's bows,
Did, self-unscabbarded, fore-show
The footstep of a secret foe.
If courtly spy, and harboured here,
What may we for the Douglas fear?
What for this island, deemed of old
Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold !
If neither spy nor foe, I pray
What yet may jealous Roderick say?
— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head!
Bethink thee of the discord dread,
That kindled when at Beltane game
Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Gramie;
Still, though thy sire the peace renewed,
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ;
Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are tlieae?
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze,
No weeping birch, nor aspens wake,
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake,
Still is the canna's* hoary beard,
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard —
And hark again ! some pipe of war
Sends the bold pibroch from afar."—

Far up the lengthened lake were spied
Four darkening specks upon the tide,
That, slow enlarging on the view,
Four manned and masted barges grew,
And bearing downwards from Glengyle,
Steered full upon the lonely isle ;
The point of Brianchoil they passed,
And, to the windward as they cast,
Against the sun they gave to shine
The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Tiue.
Nearer and nearer as they bear,
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air.
Now might you see the tartans brave,
And plaids and plumage dance and wave;
Now see the bonnets sink and rise,
As his tough oar the rower plies;
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke,
The wave ascending into smoke;

Cotton-grass.

224 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [Canto II.

See the proud pipers on the bow,

And mark the gaudy streamers flow

From their loud chanters* down, and sweep

The furrowed bosom of the deep,

As, rushing through the lake amain,

They plied the ancient Highland strain.

Ever, as on they bore, more loud

And louder rung the pibroch proud.

At first the sound, by distance tame,

Mellowed along the waters came,

And, lingering long by cape and bay,

Wailed every harsher note away;

Then bursting bolder on the ear,

The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear;

Those thrilling sounds, that call the might

Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight.

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when

The mustering hundreds shake the glen,

And, hurrying at the signal dread,

The battered earth returns their tread.

Then prelude light, of livelier tone,

Expressed their merry marching on,

Ere peal of closing battle rose,

With mingled out-cry, shrieks, and blows;

And mimic din of stroke and ward,

As broad-sword upon target jarred;

And groaning pause, ere yet again,

Condensed, the battle yelled amain;

The rapid charge, the rallying shout,

Retreat borne headlong into rout,

And bursts of triumph, to declare

Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there.

Nor ended thus the strain; but slow,

Sunk in a moan prolonged and low,

And changed the conquering clarion swell,

For wild lament o'er those that fell.

The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill
Were busy with their echoes still;
And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud a hundred clansmen raise
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise.
Each boatman, bending to bis oar,
With measured sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
" Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho! iro ! "

The drone of the bag-pipe.

Canto II] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 221

And near, and nearer as they rowed,
Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

gloat SScwjj.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances !

Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine !
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line !

Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,
Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,

While every Highland glen

Sends our shout back agen,
" Rodei-igh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the moun-
tain,

The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade.
Moored in the rifted rock,
Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen,

"Eoderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"

xx.

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
AndBanochar's groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan- Alpine with fear and with woe ;
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear agen,
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine 1
0 ! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine !
0 that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,
Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow !
Loud should Clan- Alpine then
Ring from her deepmost glen,
" Roderigh Yich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! "

With all her joyful female band,

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand.

15

226 THE .LADY OP THE LAKE. [Canto II.

Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,

And high, their snowy arms they threw,

As echoing back with shrill acclaim,

And chorus wild, the chieftain's name;

While, prompt to please, with mother's art.

The darling passion of his heart,

The Dame called Ellen to the strand,

To greet her kinsman ere he land:

" Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou,

And shun to wreathe a victor's brow]" —

Reluctantly and slow, the maid

The unwelcome summoning obeyed,

And, when a distant bugle rung,

In the mid-path aside she sprung: —

" List, Allan- bane ! From mainland cast,

I hear my father's signal blast.

Be our's," she cried, "the skiff to guide,

And waft him from the mountain side. " —

Then, like a sun-beam, swift and bright,

She darted to her shallop light,

And, eagerly while Roderick scanned,

For her dear form, his mother's band,

The islet far behind her lay,

And she had landed in the bay.

Some feelings are to mortals given,

With less of earth in them than heaven;

And if there be a human tear

From passion's dross refined and clear,

A tear so limpid and so meek,

It would not stain an angel's cheek,

'Tis that which pious fathers shed

Upon a duteous daughter's head !

And as the Douglas to his breast

His darling Ellen closely pressed,

Such holy drops her tresses steeped,

Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped.

Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue

Her filial welcomes crowded hung,

Marked she, that fear (affection's proof),

Still held a graceful youth aloof;

No ! not tilf Douglas named his name,

Although, the youth was Malcolm Grseme.

Allan, with wistful look the while,
Marked Roderick landing on the isle;
His master piteously he eyed,
Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride,
Then dashed, with hasty hand, away
From his dimmed eye the gathering spray,
And Douglas, as his hand he laid
On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said,

CaiUoII.~\ THE LADY OS THE LAKE. 227

" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy

In my poor follower's glistening eye ]

I'll tell thee : —he recalls the day,

When in my praise he led the lay

O'er the arched gate of Buthwell proud,

While many a minstrel answered load,

When Percy's Norman pennon, won

In bloody field, before me shone,

And twice ten knights, the least a name

As mighty as yon chief may claim,

Gracing my pomp, behind me came.

Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud

Was I of all that marshalled crowd,

Though the waned crescent owned my might,

And in my train trooped lord and knight,

Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays,

And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise,

As when this old man's silent tear,

And this poor maid's affection dear,

A welcome give more kind and true,

Than aught my better fortunes knew.

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast;

0 ! it out-beggars all I lost ! " —

Delightful praise ! — like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide,
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide;
The loved caresses of the maid
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favourite stand,
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye,
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly.
And, trust, while in such guise she stood,
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood,
That if a father's partial thought
O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught)
Well might the lover's judgment fail
To balance with a juster scale ;
For with each secret glance he stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

xxv.
Of stature fair, and slender frame,
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme.
The belted plaid and tartan hose
Did ne'er mere graceful limbs disclose ;
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue,
Curled closely round his bonnet blue.
Trained to the chase, his eagle eye
The ptarmigan in snow could spy ;

228 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto II.

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath,

He knew, through Lennox and Menteith;

Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe,

When Malcolm bent his sounding bow,

And scarce that doe, though winged with fear,

Out-stripped in speed the mountaineer;

Right up Ben- Lomond could he press,

And not a sob his toil confess.

His form accorded with a mind

Lively and ardent, frank and kind;

A blither heart, till Ellen came,

Did never love nor sorrow tame;

It danced as lightsome in his breast,

As played the feather on his crest.

Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth,

His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth,

And bards, who saw his features bold,

When kindled by the tales of old,

Said, were that youth to manhood grown,

Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown

Be foremost voiced by mountain fame,

But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.

Now back they wend their watery way,
And, " 0 my sire ! " did Ellen say,
" Why urge thy chase so far astray ]
And why so late returned ] And why " —
The rest was in her speaking eye.
" My child, the chase I follow far,
'Tis mimicry of noble war;
And with that gallant pastime reft
Were all of Douglas I have left.
I met young Malcolm as I strayed
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' fhade,
Nor strayed I safe; for, all around,
Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground.
This youth, though still a royal ward,
Risked life and land to be my guard,
And through the passes of the wood
Guided my steps, not unpursued;
And Roderick shall his welcome make,
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake.
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen,
Nor peril aught for me agen." —

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,
Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme,
Yet, not in action, word, or eye,
Failed aught in hospitality.
In talk and sport they whiled away
The morning of that summer day;
But at high noon a courier light
Held secret parley with the knight,

Can/o //.] TIIE LADY OF THE LAKE. 229

Whose moody aspect soon declared,
That evil were the news he heard.
Deep thought seemed toiling in his head;
Yet was the evening banquet made.
Ere he assembled round the flame,
His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme,
And Ellen, too; then cast around
His eyes, then fixed them on the ground,
As studying phrase that might avail
.Best to convey unpleasant tale.
Long with his dagger's hilt he played,
Then raised his haughty brow, and said

" Short be my speech; — nor time affords,

Nor my plain temper, glozing words.

Kinsman and father, — if such name

Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim;

Mine honoured mother; Ellen— why,

My cousin, turn away thine eye 1 —

And Graeme; in whom I hope to know

Full soon a noble friend or foe,

When age shall give thee thy command,

And leading in thy native land, —

List all ! — The King's vindictive pride

Boasts to have tamed the Border-side,

Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came

To share their monarch's sylvan game,

Themselves in bloody toils were snared,

And when the banquet they prepared,

And wide their loyal portals flung,

O'er their own gate-way struggling hung.

Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead,

From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed,

Where the lune streams of Ettricke glide,

And from the silver Teviot's side;

The dales, where martial clans did ride,

Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide.

This tyrant of the Scottish throne,

So faithless, and so ruthless known,

Now hither comes; his end the same,

The same pretext of sylvan game.

What grace for Highland chiefs judge ye,

By fate of Border chivalry.

Yet more; amid Glenfinlas green,

Douglas, thy stately form was seen.

This by espial sure I know :

Your counsel in the streight 1 show." —

Ellen and Margaret fearfully
Sought comfort in each other's eye,
Then turned their ghastly look, each oiie,
This to her siro, that to her sou.

230 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto II

The hasty colour went and came

In the bold cheek of Malcolm Grserue ;

But from his glance it well appeared,

'Twas but for Ellen that he feared;

While sorrowful, but undismayed,

The Douglas thus his counsel said :

" Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar.

It may but thunder and pass o'er;

Nor will I here remain an hour,

To draw the lightning on thy bower;

For well thou know'st, at this grey head

The royal bolt were fiercest sped.

For thee, who, at thy King's command,

Canst aid him with a gallant band,

Submission, homage, humbled pride,

Shall turn the monarch's wrath aside.

Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart,

Ellen and I will seek, apart,

The refuge of some forest cell;

There, like the hunted quarry, dwell,

Till, on the mountain and the moor,

The stern pursuit be passed and o'er." —

" No, by mine honour," Roderick said,

" So help me heaven, and my good blade !

No, never ! Blasted be yon pine,

My father's ancient crest, and mine,

If from its shade in danger part

The lineage of the Bleeding Heart !

Hear my blunt speech : grant me this maid

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid;

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu,

Will friends and allies flock enow;

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief,

Will bind to us each Western Chief.

When the loud pipes my bridal tell,

The Links of Forth shall hear the knell,

The guards shall start in Stirling's porch;

And, when I light the nuptial torch,

A thousand villages in flames,

Shall scare the slumbers of King James !

— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away,

And, mother, cease these signs, I pray;

I meant not all my heat might say. —

Small need of inroad, or of fight,

When the sage Douglas may unite

Each mountain clan in friendly band,

To guard the passes of their land,

Till the foiled King, from pathless glen,

Shall bootless turn him home agen." —

XXXI.

There are who have, at midnight hour,
In slumber scaled a dizzy tower,

Canto 77] TEE T.APT OF THE LAKE. 231

And, on the verge that beetled o'er

The ocean-tide's incessant roar,

D reamed calmly out their dangerous dream,

Till wakened by the morning beam;

"When, dazzled by the eastern glow.

Such startler cast his glance below,

And saw unmeasured depth around,

And heard unintermitted sound,

And thought the battled fence so frail,

It waved like cobweb in the gale; —

Amid his senses' giddy wheel,

Did he not desperate impulse feel,

Headlong to plunge himself below,

And meet the worst his fears foreshow ] —

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound,

As sudden ruin yawned around,

By crossing terrors wildly tossed,

Still for the Douglas fearing most,

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,

To buy his safety with her hand.

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye,
And eager rose to speak — but ere
His tongue could hurry forth his fear,
Had Douglas marked the hectic strife,
Where death seemed combating with life;
For to her cheek, in feverish flood,
One instant rushed the throbbing blood,
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,
Left its domain as wan as clay.
" Roderick, enough ! enough ! " he cried,
" My daughter cannot be thy bride;
Not "that the blush to wooer dear,
Nor paleness that of maiden fear.
It may not be — forgive her, Chief,
Nor hazard aught for our relief.
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er
Vt ill level a rebellious spear.
'Twas I that taught his youthful hand
To rein a steed and wield a bran J;
I see him yet, the princely boy !
Not Ellen more my pride and joy;
I love him still, despite my wrongs,
By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues.
O seek the grace you well may find,
Without a cause to mine combined." —

Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode;
The waving of his tartans broad,
And darkened brow, where wounded pride
With ire and disappointment vied,

232 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. ICanto II

Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill Daemon of the night,
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way :
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart,
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,
At length the hand of Douglas wrung,
While eyes, that mocked at tears before,
With bitter drops were running o'er.
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope
Scarce in that ample breast had scope,
But, struggling with his spirit proud,
Convulsive heaved its chequered shroud,
While every sob — so mute were all —
Was heard distinctly through the hall.
The sen's despair, the mother's look,
111 might the gentle Ellen brook;
She rose, and to her side there came,
To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

Then Roderick from the Douglas broke —

As flashes flame through sable smoke,

Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,

To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,

So the deep anguish of despair

Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.

With stalwart grasp his hand he laid

On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid :

" Back, beardless boy ! " he sternly said.

" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught

The lesson I so lately taught 1

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid,

Thank thou for punishment delayed. " —

Eager as greyhound on his game,

Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme.

" Perish my name, if aught afford

Its chieftain safety, save his sword ! " —

Thus as they strove, their desperate hand

Griped to the dagger or the brand,

And death had been— but Douglas rose,

And thrust between the struggling foes

His giant strength: — " Chieftains, forego !

I hold the first who strikes, my foe. —

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar !

What ! is the Dougla3 fallen so far,

His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil

Of such dishonourable broil ! " —

Sullen and slowly, they unclasp,

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,

And each upon his rival glared,

With foot advanced, and blade half bared.

Canto //.] THE I<ADY OP THE LAKE. 233

XXXV.

Ere yet the brands aloft were flung,
Margaret on Koderick's mantle hung,
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream,
As faltered through terrific dream.
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword,
And veiled his wrath in scornful word.
" Best safe till morning; pity 'twere
Such cheek should feel'the midnight air !
Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell,
Roderick will keep the lake and fell,
Nor lackey, with his free-born clan,
The pageant pomp of earthly man.
More would he of Clan-Alpine know,
Thou canst our strength and passes show. —
Malise, what ho ! "—his hench-man came;
" Give our safe conduct to the Gra?me." —
Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold,
" Fear nothing for thy favourite hold;
The spot, an angel deigned to grace,
Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place.
Thy churlish courtesy for those
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes.
As safe to me the mountain way
At midnight, as in blaze of day,
Though with his boldest at his back,
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. —
Brave Douglas,— lovely Ellen, — nay,
Nought here of parting will I say.
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen,
So secret, but we meet agen. —
Chieftain ! we too shall findan hour."-
He said, and left the sylvan bower.

XXXVI.

Old Allan followed to the strand,

(Such was the Douglas's command,)

And anxious told, how, on the morn,

The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn.

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er

Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor.

Much were the peril to the Crseine,

From those who to the signal came;

Far up the lake 'twere safest land,

Himself would row him to the strand.

He gave his counsel to the wind,

While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind,

Round dirk and pouch and broad-sword rolled,

His ample plaid in tightened fold,

And stripped his limbs to such array,

As best might suit the watery way.

XXXVII.

Then spoke abrupt: " Farewell to thee,
Pattern of old fidelity ! "—

234 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto III.

The minstrel's hand lie kindly pressed, —
" 0 ! could I point a place of rest !
My sovereign holds in ward my land.
My uncle leads my vassal band;
To tame his foes, his friends to aid,
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.
Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme,
Who loves the Chieftain of his name,
Not long shall honoured Douglas dwell,
Like hunted stag in mountain cell;
Nor, ei-e yon pride-swollen robber dare, —
I may not give the rest to air !
Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought,
Not the poor service of a boat.
To waft me to yon mountain side." —
Then plunged he in the flashing tide.
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore,
And stoutly steered him from the shore
And Allan strained his anxious eye,
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy.
Darkening across each puny wave,
To which the moon her silver gave,
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active limb;
Then landing in the moonlight dell,
Loud shouted of his weal to tell.
The Minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore withdrew.

CANTO THIRD.

THE GATHERING.

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store,

Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the things that be !

How few, all weak and withered of their force,
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse,
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his cease-
less course.
Yet live there still who can remember well,

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew,
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,

And solitary heath, the signal knew;
And fast the faithful clan around him drew,

What time the warning note was keenly wound,
What time aloft their kindred banner flew,

While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound,
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.

Canto III.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

II.
The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue;
Wildly and soft the western breeze
Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees.
And the pleased lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy;
The mountain shadows on her breast
"Were neither broken nor at rest;
In bright uncertainty they lie,
Like future joys to Fancy's eye.
The water lily to the light
Her chalice reared of silver bright;
The doe awoke, and to the lawn,
Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn;
The grey mist left the mountain side.
The torrent showed its glistening pride;
Invisible in flecked sky,
The lark sent down her revelry;
The black-bird and the speckled thrush
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush;
In answer cooed the cushat dove,
II er notes of peace, and rest, and love.

No thought of peace, no thought of rest,
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast.
With sheathed broad-sword in his hand,
Abrupt he paced the islet strand,
And eyed the rising sun, and laid
His hand on his impatient blade.
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care
Was prompt the ritual to prepare,
With deep and deathful meaning fraught;
For such Antiquity had taught
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad
The Cross of Fire should take its road.
The shrinking band stood oft aghast
At the impatient glance he cast ; —
Such glance the mountain eagle threw,
As, from the cliffs of Ben-venue,
She spread her dark saik on the wind,
And, high in middle heaven reclined,
With her broad shadow on the lake,
Silenced the warblers of the brake.

A heap of withered boughs was piled,
Of juniper and rowan wild,
Mingled with shivers from the oak.
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke.
Brian, the Hermit, by it stood,
Bare-footed, in his frock and hood.

236 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto HI.

His grisled beard and matted Lair

Obscured a visage of despair;

His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er,

The scars of frantic penance bore.

That Monk, of savage form and face,

The impending danger of his race

Had drawn from deepest solitude,

Far in Benharrow's bosom rude.

Not his the mien of Christian priest,

But Druid's, from the grave released,

Whose hardened heart and eye might brook

On human sacrifice to look ;

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore

Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er.

The hallowed creed gave only worse

And deadlier emphasis of curse;

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer,

His cave the pilgrim shunned with care,

The eager huntsman knew his bound,

And in mid chase called off his hound ;

Or if, in lonely glen or strath,

The desert-dweller met his path,

He prayed, and signed the cross between,

While terror took devotion's mien.

Of Brian's birth strange tales were told,

His mother watched a midnight fold,

Built deep within a dreary glen,

Where scattered lay the bones of men,

In some forgotten battle slain,

And bleached by drifting wind and rain

It might have tamed a warrior's heart,

To view such mockery of his art !

The knot-grass fettered there the hand,

Which once could burst an iron band ;

Beneath the broad and ample bone,

That bucklered heart to fear unknown,

A feeble and a timorous guest,

The field-fare framed her lowly nest ;

There the slow blind -worm left his slime

On the fleet limbs that mocked at time ;

And there, too, lay the leader's skull,

Still wreathed with chaplet flushed and full,.

For heath-bell, with her purple bloom,

Supplied the bonnet and the plume.

All night, in this sad glen, the maid

Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade :

— She said, no shepherd sought her side,

No hunter's hand her snood untied,

Yet ne'er again to braid her hair

The virgin snood did Alice wear ;

Gone was her maiden glee and sport,

Her maiden girdle all too short,

Canto III.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 237

Nor sought she, from that fatal night,
Or holy church or blessed rite,
But locked her secret in her breast,
And died in travail, unconfessed.

Alone, among his young compeers,

Was Brian from his infant years;

A moody and heart-broken boy,

Estranged from sympathy and joy,

Bearing each taunt which careless tongue

On his mysterious lineage flung.

Whole nights he spent by moon-light pale,

To wood and stream his hap to wail,

Till, frantic, he as truth received

What of his birth the crowd believed,

And sought, in mist and meteor fire,

To meet and know his Phantom Sire !

In vain, to soothe his wayward fate,

The cloister oped her pitying gate;

In vain, the learning of the age

Unclasped the sable-lettered page;

Even in its treasures he could find

Food for the fever of his mind.

Eager he read whatever tells

Of magic, cabala, and spells,

And every dark pursuit allied

To curious and presumptuous pride,

Till, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung.

And heart with mystic horrors wrung,

Desperate he sought Benharrow's den,

And hid him from the haunts of men.

The desert gave him visions wild,
Such as might suit the Spectre's child.
Where with black cliffs the torrents toil,
He watched the wheeling eddies boil,
Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes
Beheld the river daemon rise ;
The mountain mist took form and limb,
Of noontide hag, or goblin grim ;
The midnight wind came wild and dread,
Swelled with the voices of the dead;
Far on the future battle-heath
His eye beheld the ranks of death:
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled.
Shaped forth a disembodied world.
One lingering sympathy of mind
Still bound him to the mortal kind ;
The only parent he could claim
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came.
Late had he heard, in prophet's dream,
The fatal Bea-Shie's boding scream ;

238 THE LADY OF TLIE LAKE. [Canto III.

Sounds, too, Lad come in midnight blast,

Of charging steeds, careering fast

Along Benharrow's shingly side,

Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride;

The thunderbolt had split the pine, —

All augured ill to Alpine's line.

He girt his loins, and came to show

The signals of impending woe,

And now stood prompt to bless or ban,

As bade the chieftain of his clan.

'Twas all prepared ; — and from the rock,
A goat, the patriarch of the flock,
Before the kindling pile was laid,
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade.
Patient the sickening victim eyed
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide,
Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb,
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim.
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer,
A slender crosslet formed with care,
A cubit's length in measure due;
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew,
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave
Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave,
And, answering Lomond's breezes deep,
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep.
The Cross, thus formed, he held on high,
With wasted hand and haggard eye,
And strange and mingled feelings woke,
While his anathema he spoke.

" Woe to the clansman, who shall view
This symbol of sepulchral yew,
Forgetful that its branches grew
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew

On Alpine's dwelling low !
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust,
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust,
But, from his sires and kindred thrust,
Each clansman's execration just

Shall doom him wrath and woe. "
He paused ; — the word the vassals took,
With forward step and fiery look,
On high their naked brands they shook,
Their clattering targets wildly strook;

And first, in murmur low,
Then, like the billow in his course,
That far to seaward finds his source,
And flings to shore his mustered force,
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse,-

" Woe to the traitor, woe ! "

Cnnlo III.] THE LADY OF THE LAlvL\ 239

13en-an 's grey scalp the accents knew,
The joyous wolf from covert drew,
The exulting eagle screamed afar, —
They knew the voice of Alpine's war.

The shout was hushed on lake and fell,
The Monk resumed his muttered spell.
Dismal and low its accents came,
The while he scathed the Cross with flame;
And the few words that reached the air,
Although the holiest name was there,
Had more of blasphemy than prayer.
But when he shook above the crowd
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : —
" Woe to the wretch, "who fails to rear
At this dread sign the ready spear !
For, as the flames this symbol sear,
His home, the refuge of his fear,

A kindred fate shall know;
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim,
While maids and matrons on his name
Shall call down wretchedness and shame,

And infamy and woe." —
Then rose the cry of females, shrill
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill,
Denouncing misery and ill,
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill

Of curses stammered slow;
Answering, with imprecation dread,
" Sunk be his home in embers red !
And cursed be the meanest shed
That e'er snail hide the houseless head,

We doom to want and woe ! "
A sharp and shrieking echo gave,
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave !
And the grey pass where birches wave,

On Beala-nam-bo.

Then deeper paused the priest anew,
And hard his labouring breath he drew,
While, with set teeth and clenched hand,
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand,
He meditated curse more dread,
And deadlier, on the clansman's head,
Who, summoned to his Chieftain's aid,
The signal saw and disobeyed.
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood,
He quenched among the bubbling blood,
And, as again the sign he reared,
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard :
" When flits this Cross from man to man,
Vice- Alpine's summons to his clan.

240 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto III

Burst be the ear that fails to heed !
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed !
May ravens tear the careless eyes,
Wolves make the coward heart their prize !
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth,
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth !
As dies in hissing gore the spark,
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark !
And be the grace to him denied,
Bought by this sign to all beside ! " —
He ceased : no echo gave agen
The murmur of the deep Amen.

Then Roderick, with impatient look,

From Brian's hand the symbol took :

" Speed, Malise, speed ! " he said, and gave

The crosslet to his henchman brave.

" The muster-place be Lanrick mead —

Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed ! "—

Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,

A barge across Loch- Katrine flew;

High stood the henchman on the prow,

So rapidly the barge-men row,

The bubbles, where they launched the boat,

Were all unbroken and afloat,

Dancing in foam and ripple still,

When it had neared the mainland hill ;

And from the silver beach's side

Still was the prow three fathom wide,

When lightly bounded to the land,

The messenger of blood and brand.

Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never tied.
Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never braced.
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,
Burst down like torrent from its crest ;
With short and springing footstep pass
The trembling bog and false morass :
Across the brook like roe-buck bound,
And thread the brake like questing hound ;
The crag is high, the scaur is deep,
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap;
Parched are thy burning lips and brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now;
Herald of battle, fate, and fear,
Stretch onward in thy fleet career \
The wounded hind thou track'st not now;
Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough,
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace,
With rivals in the mountain race;

Canto III.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 211

But clanger, death, and warrior deed,
Are in thy course — Speed, Malise, speed I

XIV.

Fast as the fatal symbol flies,
In arms the huts and hamlets rise;
From winding glen, from upland brown,
They poured each hardy tenant down.
Nor slacked the messenger his pace;
He showed the sign, he named the place,
And, pressing forward like the wind,
Left clamour and surprise behind.
The fisherman forsook the strand,
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand;
With changed cheer, the mower blithe
Left in the half-cut swathe his scythe;
The herds without a keeper strayed,
The plough was in mid-furrow stayed,
The falconer tossed his hawk away,
The hunter left the stag at bay;
Prompt at the signal of alarms,
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms;
So swept the tumult and affray
Along the margin of Achray.
Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er
Thy banks should echo sounds of fear !
The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep
So stilly on thy bosom deep,
The lark's blithe carol from the cloud,
Seems for the scene too gaily loud.

xv.
Speed, Malise, speed ! the lake is past,
Duncraggan's huts appear at last,
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,
Half hidden in the copse so green ;
There may'st thou rest, thy labour done,
Their lord shall speed the signal on. —
As stoops the hawk upon his prey,
The henchman shot him down the way.
— What woeful accents load the gale ]
The funeral yell, the female wail !
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,
A valiant warrior fights no more.
Who, in the battle or the chase,
At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! —
Within the hall, where torches' ray
Supplies the excluded beams of day,
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,
And o'er him streams his widow's tear.
His stripling son stands mournful by,
His youngest weeps, but knows not n by;
The village maids and matrons round
The dismal coronach * resound.

* Funeral Song. See is'ote.

1G

242 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [Canto 111.

Corowatlj.

He is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.
The font, re-appearing,

From the rain drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no moiTow !

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper

Wails manhood in glory;
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,*

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber !
Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and for ever !

See Stumah,f who, the bier beside,

His master's corpse with wonder eyed,

Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo

Could send like lightning o'er the dew,

Bristles his crest, and points his ears,

As if some stranger step he hears.

'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread,

Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead,

But headlong haste, or deadly fear,

Urge the precipitate career.

All stand aghast : — unheeding all,

The henchman bursts into the hall ;

Before the dead man's bier he stood,

Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood ;

" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ;

Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed ! "

xviir.

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.

* Or corri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies,
t Faithful. The mime of a dog.

Canto III] T11E LADY OP THE LAKE. 243

In haste the stripling to his side

His father's dirk and broad-sword tied ;

But -when he saw his mother's eye

Watch him in speechless agony,

Back to her opened arms he flew,

Pressed on her lips a fond adieu —

" Alas ! " she sobbed, — " and yet be gone,

And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son !" —

One look he cast upon the bier,

Dashed from his eye the gathering tear,

Breathed deep, to clear his labouring breast,

And tossed aloft his bonnet crest,

Then, like the high-bred colt, when freed

First he essays his fire and speed.

He vanished, and o'er moor and moss

Sped forward with the Fiery Cross.

Suspended was the widow's tear,

While yet his footsteps she could hear;

And when she marked the henchman's eye

Wet with unwonted sympathy,

" Kinsman," she said, "his race is run,

That should have sped thine errand on;

The oak has fallen, — the sapling bough

Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.

Yet trust I well, his duty done,

The orphan's God will guard my son. —

And you, in many a danger true,

At Duncan's hest your blades that drew,

To arms, and guard that orphan's head !

Let babes and women wail the dead." —

Then weapon-clang, and martial call,

Resounded through the funeral hall,

While from the walls the attendant band

Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand ;

And short and flitting energy

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye,

As if the sounds to warrior dear

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier.

But faded soon that borrowed force;

Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire,
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.
O'er dale and hill the summons flew,
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;
The tear, that gathered in his eye,
He left the mountain breeze to dry;
Until, where Teith's young waters roll,
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll,
That graced the sable strath with green,
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen.
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge,
But Angus paused not on the edge;

241 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto HI.

Though the dark waves danced dizzily,
Though reeled his sympathetic eye,
He dashed amid the torrent's roar ;
His right hand high the erosslet bore,
His left the pole axe grasped, to guide
And stay his footing in the tide.
He stumbled twice — the foam splashed high,
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ;
And had he fallen, — for ever there,
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir !
But still, as if in parting life,
Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife,
Until the opposing bank he gained,
And up the chapel pathway strained.

A blithesome rout, that morning tide,
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride.
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave
To Norman, heir of Armandave,
And, issuing from the Gothic arch,
The bridal now resumed their march.
In rude, but glad procession, came
Bonnetted sire and coif clad dame ;
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer,
Which snooded maiden would not hear ;
And children, that, unwitting why,
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ;
And minstrels, that in measures vied
Before the young and bonny bride,
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose
The tear and blush of morning rose.
With virgin step, and bashful hand,
She held the kerchief's snowy band ;
The gallant bridegroom, by her side,
Beheld his prize with victor's pride,
And the glad mother in her ear
Was closely whispering word of cheer.

Who meets them at the church-yard gate ?-

The messenger of fear and fate !

Haste in his hurried accent lies,

And grief is swimming in his eyes.

All dripping from the recent flood,

Panting and travel-soiled he stood,

The fatal sign of fire and sword

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word ;

" The muster-place is Lanrick mead.

Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed ! "—

And must he change so soon the hand,

Just linked to his by holy band,

For the fell Cross of blood and brand 1

And must the day, so blithe that rose,

And promised rapture in the close.

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 2-tE

Before its setting hour, divide

The bridegroom from the plighted bride]

0 fatal doom ! — it must ! it must !

Clan- Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,

Her summons dread, brooks no delay ;

Stretch to the race — away ! away !

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,

And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,

Until he saw the starting tear

Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ;

Then, trusting not a second look,

In haste he sped him up the brook,

Nor backward glanced till on the heath

Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.

— What in the racer's bosom stirred ]

The sickening pang of hope deferred,

And memory, with a torturing train

Of all his morning visions vain.

Mingled with love's impatience, came

The manly thirst for martial fame ;

The stormy joy of mountaineers,

Ere yet they rush upon the spears ;

And zeal for clan and chieftain burning,

And hope, from well-fought field returning,

With war's red honours on his crest,

To clasp his Mary to his breast.

Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae,

Like fire from flint he glanced away,

While high resolve, and feeling strong,

Burst into voluntary song.

JSmvjj.

The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken* curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid !

It will not waken me, Mary !
I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know ;
When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow.

His foot like arrow free, Mary.

Bracken. Fern.

246 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto III

A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary !

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,
Rushing, in conflagration strong,
Thy deep ravines and dells along,
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,
And reddening the dark lakes below;
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.
The signal roused to martial coil
The sullen margin of Loch-Voil,
Wak^d still Loch-Doine, and to the source
Alarmed, Ealvaig, thy swampy course ;
Thence southward turned its rapid road.
Adown Strath- Gartney's valley broad,
Till rose in arms each man might claim
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name ;
From the grey sire, whose trembling hand
Could hardly buckle on his brand,
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow
Were yet scarce terror to the crow.
Each valley, each sequestered glen,
Mustered its little horde of men,
That met as torrents from the height
In Highland dale their streams unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,
A voice more loud, a tide more strong,
Till at the rendezvous they stood
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ;
Each trained to arms since life began,
Owning no tie but to his clan,
No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand,
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue,
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of truce ;
Still lay each martial Gramme and Bruce,
In B.ednock courts no horsemen wait,
No banner waved on Cardross gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,
Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con ;

Canttt m.~\ THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 247

All seemed at peace. — Now, wot ye why

The Chieftain, with such anxious eye,

Ere to the muster he repair,

This western frontier scanned with care 1 —

In Benvenue's most darksome cleft,

A fair, though cruel, pledge was left ;

For Douglas, to his promise true,

That morning from the isle withdrew,

And in a deep sequestered dell

Had sought a low and lonely cell.

By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,

Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ;

A softer name the Saxons gave,

And called the grot the Goblin-cave.

XXVI.

It was a wild and strange retreat,
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.
The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ;
Its trench had stayed full many a rock,
Hurled by primaeval earthquake shock
From Benvenue's grey summit wild,
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,
And formed the rugged sylvan grot.
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone,
"With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depth, Futurity.
No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ;
But when the wind chafed with the lake,
A sullen sound would upward break,
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke
The incessant war of wave and rock.
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey.
From such a den the wolf had sprung,
In such the wild cat leaves her young ;
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Grey Superstition's whisper dread
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ;
For there, she said, did fays resort,
And satyrs * hold their sylvan court,
By moon-light tread their mystic maze,
And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII.

Now eve, with western shadows long,
Floated on Katrine bright and strong,

* The Uridc, or Highland satyr. See Nnte.

2-18 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto Til

When Roderick, with a chosen few,

Bepassed the heights of Benvenue.

Above the Goblin -cave they go,

Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ;

The prompt retainers speed before,

To launch the shallop from the shore,

For cross Loch-Katrine lies his way

To view the passes of Achray,

And place his clansmen in array.

Yet lags the Chief in musing mind,

Unwonted sight, his men behind.

A single page, to bear his sword,

Alone attended on his lord ;

The rest their way through thickets break,

And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbouring height,

By the low-levelled sun-beam's light ;

For strength and stature, from the clan

Each warrior was a chosen man,

As even afar might well be seen,

By their proud step and martial mien.

Their feathers dance, their tartans float,

Their targets gleam, as by the boat

A wild and warlike group they stand,

That well became such mountain strand.

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turned apart the road
To Douglas's obscure abode.
It was but with that dawning morn
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn,
To drown his love in war's wild roar,
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fetters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove —
By firm resolve to conquer love !
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure lost;
For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye,
Still fondly strains his anxious ear,
The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze
That waked to sound the rustling trees.
But, hark ! what mingles in the strain?
It is the harp of Allan-bane,
That wakes its measures slow and high,
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.
What melting voice attends the strings !
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

Canto TIL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 249

fSgrnn to t\t ©irgiir.

Ave Maria! maiden mild !

Listen to a maiden's prayer;
Thou canst hear though from the wild,

Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,

Though banished, outcast, and reviled —
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer;

Mother, hear a suppliant child !

Ave Maria I

Ave Maria! undefiled I

The flinty couch we now must share,
Shall seem with down of eider piled,

If thy protection hover there.
The murky cavern's heavy air

Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ;
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer,

Mother, li&t a suppliant child !

Ave Maria!

Ave Maria! Stainless styled !

Foul daemons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,

Shall flee before thy presence fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,

Beneath thy guidance reconciled;
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,

And for a father hear a child !

Ave Maria!

Died on the harp the closing hymn —
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As list'niug still, Clan- Alpine's lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page, with humble sign,
Twice pointed to the sun's decline.
Then, while his plaid he round him cast,
" It is the last time — 'tis the last,"
He muttered thrice, — " the last time e'er
That angel- voice shall Roderick hear !" —
It was a goading thought — his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat,
And instant cross the lake it shot.
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way,
Till, with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where mustered in the vale below,
Clan- Alpine's men in martial show.

250 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [Canto TV.

A various scene the clansmen made,

Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed ;

But most, with mantles folded round,

Were couched to rest upon the ground,

Scarce to be known by curious eye,

From the deep heather where they lie,

So well was matched the tartan screen

With heath-bell dark and brackens green;

Unless where, here and there, a blade,

Or lance's point, a glimmer made,

Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.

But, when, advancing through the gloom,

They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,

Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,

Shook the steep mountain's steady side.

Thrice it arose, and lake and fell

Three times returned the martial yell.

It died upon Bochastle's plain,

And Silence claimed her evening reign.

CANTO FOURTH.

THE PROPHECT.

" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ;
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,

And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
0 wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,

I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years ! "

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
Yv'hat time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.

All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,

His axe and bow beside him lay,

For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,

A wakeful sentinel he stood.

Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung,

And instant to his arms he sprung.

" Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malisef— soon

Art thou returned from Braes of Doune.

By thy keen step and glance I know,

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." — ■

(For while the Fiery Cross hied on,

On distant scout had Malise gone.) .

" Where sleeps the Chief]" the henchman said.

Canto IV.1 THE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. 251

" Apart, in yonder misty glade;
To his lone couch I'll be your guide." —
Then called a sluniberer by his side,
And stirred him with his slackened bow —
" Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho !
We seek the Chieftain ; on the track,
Keep eagle watch till I come back." —

in.

Together up the pass they sped :

" What of the foemanl" Norman said. —

" Varying reports from near and far;

This certain, — that a band of war

Has for two days been ready boune,

At prompt command, to march from Doune;

King James, the while, with princely powers,

Holds revelry in Stirling towers.

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud

Speak on our glens in thunder loud.

Inured to bide such bitter bout,

The warrior's plaid may bear it out;

But, Norman, how wilt thou provide

A shelter for thy bonny bride 1" —

" What! know ye not that Roderick's care

To the lone isle hath caused repair

Each maid and matron of the clan,

And every child and aged man

Unfit for arms 1 and given his charge,

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge,

Upon these lakesSshall float at large,

But all beside the islet moor,

That such dear pledge may rest secure? " —

IV.

" 'Tis well advised— the Chieftain's plan

Bespeaks the father of his clan.

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu

Apart from all his followers true ] " —

" It is, because last evening- tide

Brian an augury hath tried,

Of that dread kind which must not be

Unless in dread extremity,

The Taghairm called; by which, afar,

Our sires foresaw the events of war.

Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew," — %

MALISE.

" Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew,
The choicest of the prey we had,
When swept our merry-men Gallangad.
His hide was snow, his horns were dark,
His red eye glowed like fiery spark;
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,

252 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV

And kept our stoutest kernes in awe,

Even at the pass of Beal 'maha.

But steep and flinty was the road,

And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad,

And when we came to Dennan's Row,

A child might scatheless stroke his brow." —

*' That bull was slain: bis reeking hide
They stretched the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wild tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.
Couched on 'a shelve beneath its brink,
Close where the thundering torrents sink,
Hocking beneath their headlong sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,
Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream,
The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but hush !
See gliding slow through mist and bush,
The Hermit gains yon rock, and stands
To gaze upon our slumbering bands.
Seenis he not, Malise, like a ghost,
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host?
Or raven on the blasted oak,
That, watching while the deer is broke,*
His morsel claims with sullen croak 1 "

— " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me,

Thy words were evil augury;

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,

Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell,

Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell.

The Chieftain joins him, see — and now,

Together they descend the brow." —

And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord
The Hermit Monk held solemn word :
" Roderick ! it is a fearful strife,
For man endowed with mortal life,
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill,
Whose eye can stare in stony trance,
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, -
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled,
The curtain of the future world.

* Quartered.

f\xnlo IV.} THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 253

Yet, witness every quaking limb,

My sunken pulse, mine eye-balls dim,

My soul -with harrowing anguish torn,

This for my Chieftain have I borne !—

The shapes that sought my fearful couch,

An human tongue may ne'er avouch ;

No mortal man, — save he, who, bred

Between the living and the dead,

Is gifted beyond nature's law, —

Had e'er survived to say he saw.

At length the fateful answer came.

In characters of living flame!

Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll,

But borne and branded on my soul ; — ■

Which spills the foremost foeman's life,

That party conquers in the strife.''

yii.
" Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care!
Good is thine augury, and fair.
Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood,
But first our broad-swords tasted blood.
A surer victim still I know,
Self-offered to the auspicious blow:
A spy has sought my land this morn,
No eve shall witness his return !
My followers guard each pass's month,
To east, to westward, and to south ;
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his_ guide,
Has charge to lead his steps aside,
Till, in deep path or dingle brown,
He light on those shall bring him down.
— But see, who comes his news to show !
Malise ! what tidings of the foe 1

" At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive,

Two Barons proud their banners wave.

I saw the Moray's silver star,

And marked the sable pale of Mar." —

"By Alpine's soul, high tidings those !

I love to hear of worthy foes.

When move they on 1" — " To-morrow's noon

Will see them here for battle boune." —

" Then shall it see a meeting stem ! —

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn]

Strengthened by them we well might bide

The battle on Benledi's side.

Thou couldst not 1— well ! Clan Alpine's v.-.-.n

Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen ;

Within Loch- Katrine's gorge we'll fight,

All in our maids' and matrons' sight,

Each for his hearth and household fire,

Father for child, and son for sire, —

254 THE LADY OF TUB LAKH. [Canto IV.

Lover for maid beloved ! — but why —

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ?

Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear !

A messenger of doubt or fear ?

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance

Unfix JBenledi from his stance,

Than doubt or terror can pierce tli rough

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu;

'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. —

Each to his post ! — all know their charge." —

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,

The broad-swords gleam, the banners dance,

Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.

— I turn me from the martial roar,

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

IX.

Where is the Douglas 1 — he is gone;
And Ellen sits on the grey stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ;
While vainly Allan's words of cheer
Are poured on her unheeding ear. —
" He will return— Dear lady, trust ! —
With joy return ; — he will— he must.
Well was it time to seek afar,
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan- Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cowed by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats, with many a light,
Floating the live-long yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north ;
I marked at morn how close they ride,
Thick mooi-ed by the lone islet's side,
Like wild ducks couching in the fen,
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the main-land side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare V — ■

ELLEN.

" No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.

UuntoIV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 256

I saw him redden, when the theme

Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream,

Of Malcolm Grseme in fetters bound,

Which I, thou said'st, about him wound.

Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught ?

Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought

For the kind youth, — for Roderick too —

(Let me be just) that friend so true;

In danger both, and in our cause !

Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.

Why else that solemn -warning given,

' If not on earth, we meet in heaven ? '

Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,

If eve return him not again,

Am I to hie and make me known ?

Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne,

Buys his friends' safety -with his own; —

He goes to do — what I had done,

Had Douglas' daughter been his son ! " —

" Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay !
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again
Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme,--
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name !-■
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile]
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wond'rous tale I know —
Dear lady, change that look of woe !
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer. "-

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear,
But cannot stop the bursting tear."—
The minstrel tried his simple art,
But distant far was Ellen's heart.

|Matr.

ALICE BRA5D.

Merry it is in the good green wood,
When the mavis * and merle + are singing,

* Thrush f Blackbird.

256 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. ' Canto IV.

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are
in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.

" 0 Alice Brand, my native land

Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,

As outlaws wont to do.

" 0 Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,

That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.

" Now must I teach to hew the beecb,

The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,

And stakes to fence our cave.

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,

That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,

To keep the cold away." —

" 0 Richard ! if my brother died,

'Twas but a fatal chance;
For darkling was the battle tried,

And fortune sped the lance.

" If pall and vair no more I wear,

Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey,

As gay the forest-green.

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard,

And lost thy native land,
Still Alice has her own Richard,

And he his Alice Brand." —

'Tis merr3r, 'tis merry, in good green wood,

So blithe Lady Alice is singing ;
On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown side,

Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin king,

Who woned within the hill, —
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,

His voice was ghostly shrill.

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,

Our moondight circle's screen 1
Or who comes here to chase the deer,

Beloved of our Elfin Queen?

CanioIV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairie's fatal green 1

" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man ;

For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.

" Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye;

Till he wish and pray that his life would part,
Nor yet find leave to die." —

XIV.

gallab twafimtb.

"lis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing ;

The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is faggots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,

Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he crossed and blessed himself,
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,

" That is made with bloody hands. "

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,

That woman void of fear, —
" And if there's blood upon his hand,

"lis but the blood of deer." —

'•' Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood !

It cleaves unto his baud,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,

The blood of Ethert Brand." —

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,

And made the holy sign, —
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand,

A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, Daemon elf,

By Him whom Daemons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself,

And what thine errand here f " —

Wallah tonfhuub.

"'Tia merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland,

When fairy birds are singing,
When their court doth ride by the monarch's siJs,

With bit and bridle ringing :

17

258 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

" And gaily shines the Fairyland —

But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December's beam

Can dart on ice and snow.

" And fading, like that varied gleam,

Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like knight and lady seem,

And now like dwarf and ape.

" It was between the night and day,

When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away,

To the joyless Elfin bower.

" But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mould,

As fair a form as thine." —

She crossed him once — she crossed him twice —

That lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold ;

He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish mold,

Her brother, Ethert Brand !

Merry it is in good green wood,

When the mavis and merle are singing,

But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,
When all the bells were ringing.

Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed,

A stranger climbed the steepy glade:

His martial step, his stately mien,

His hunting suit of Lincoln green,

His eagle glance, remembrance claims —

'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James.

Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream:

" 0 stranger! in such hour of fear,

What evil hap has brought thee here V —

" An evil hap how can it be,

That bids me look again on thee ]

By promise bound, my former guide

Met me betimes this morning tide,

And marshalled, over bank and bourne,

The happy path of my retm-n." —

" The happy path !— what! said he nought

Of war, of battle to be fought,

Canto IV.] TUE LADY OF THE LAKE. 259

Of guarded pass V — " No, by my faith !
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." —
" Oh haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
— Yonder his tartans I discern ;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure !—
What prompted thee, unhappy man ?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him, to guide thee here."—

" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,

Since it is worthy care from thee;

Yet life I hold but idle breath,

When love or honour's weighed with death.

Then let me profit by my chance,

And speak my purpose bold at once.

I come to bear thee from a wild,

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;

By this soft hand to lead thee far

From frantic scenes of feud and war.

Near Bochastle my horses wait;

They bear us soon to Stirling gate.

I'll place thee in a lovely bower,

I'll guard thee like a tender flower," —

" 0 ! hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art,

To say I do not read thy heart;

Too much, before, my selfish ear

Was idly soothed my praise to hear.

That fatal bait hath lured thee back,

In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ;

And how, 0 how, can I atone

The wreck my vanity brought on ! —

One way remains — I'll tell him all —

Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall !

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!

But first — my father is a man

Outlawed and exiled, under ban;

The price of blood is on his head,

With me 'twere infamy to wed. —

Still would'st thou speak? — then hear the truth !

Fitz- James, there is a noble youth,—

If yet he is ! — exposed for me

And mine to dread extremity —

Thou hast the secret of my heart ;

Forgive, be generous, and depart." —

XV II I.

Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,
To give her steadfast speech the lie;

260 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

In maiden confidence slie stood,

Though mantled in her cheek the blood,

And told her love with such a sigh

Of deep and hopeless agony,

As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom,

And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.

Hope vanished from Fitz-Jarnes's eye,

But not with hope fled sympathy.

He proffered to attend her side,

A3 "brother would a sister guide. —

" 0 ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart !

Safer for both we go apart.

0 haste thee, and from Allan learn,

If tliou may'st trust yon wily kern." —

With hand upon his forehead laid,

The conflict of his mind to shade,

A parting step or two he made;

Then, as some thought had crossed his brain,

He paused, and turned, and came again.

" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word !—

It chanced in fight that my poor sword

Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.

This ring the grateful Monarch gave,

And bade, when I had boon to crave,

To bring it back, and boldly claim

The recompence that I would name.

Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

But one who lives by lance and sword,

Whose castle is his helm and shield,

His lordship, the embattled field.

What from a prince can I demand,

Who neither reck of state nor land?

Ellen, thy hand— the ring is thine;

Each guard and usher knows the sign.

Seek thou the king without delay;

This signet shall secure thy way;

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,

As ransom of his pledge to me." —

He placed the golden circlet on,

Paused — kissed her hand — and then was gone.

The aged Minstrel stood aghast,

So hastily Fitz-James shot past.

He joined his guide, and wending down

The ridges of the mountain brown,

Across the stream they took their way,

That joins Loch-Katrine to Achray.

All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill :
Sudden his guide whooped loud and high —
" Murdoch I was that a signal cry 1 " —

Canto IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 2G1

lie stammered forth, — "I shout to scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare." —
He looked — he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed : — " Ah ! gallant grey !
For thee— for me perchance — 'twere well
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell. —
Murdoch, move first — hut silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die." —
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge

Around a precipice's edge,

When lo ! a wasted Female form,

Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,

In tattered weeds and wild array,

Stood on a cliff beside the way,

And glancing round her restless eye,

Upon the wood, the rook, the sky,

Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy.

Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom ;

With gesture wild she waved a plume

Of feathers, which the eagles fling

To crag and cliff from dusky wing ;

Such spoils her desperate step had sought,

Where scarce was footing for the goat.

The tartan plaid she first descried,

And shrieked, till all the rocks replied ;

As loud she laughed when near they drew,

For then the Lowland garb she knew ;

And then her hands she wildly wrung,

And then she wept, and then she sung. — ■

She sung ! — the voice, in better time,

Perchance to harp or lute might chime ;

And now, though strained and roughened, still

Itung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

550110.

" They bid me sleep, they bid me pray.

They say my brain is warped and wrung-
I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot pray in Highland tongue.
But were I now where Allan glides,
Or heard my native Bevan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That Heaven would close my wintry day !

" 'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,
They bade me to the church repair;

It was my bridal morn they said,
Aud my true love would meet me there.

262 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

But woe betide the cruel guile,

That drowned in blood the morning smile !

And woe betide the fairy dream !

I only waked to sob and scream. " —

" Who is this maid 1 what means her lay ?
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle grey,
As the lone heron spreads his wing.
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." —
" 'Tis Blanch of Devan," Murdoch said,
" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick forayed Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.
I marvel she is now at large,
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. —
Hence, brain-sick fool ! " — He raised his bow
" Now, if thou strikest her but one blow,
I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far
As ever peasant pitched a bar." —
"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the Maniac

cried,
And pressed her to Fitz-James's side.
" See the grey pennons I prepare,
To seek my true-love through the air !
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume !
No ! — deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and briar in mid air stayed,
"Wave forth a banner fair and free,
Meet signal for their revelry. " —

" Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still ! " —
" 0 ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. —
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln green ;
And, though mine ear is all unstrung,
Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.

" For 0 my sweet "William was forester true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away !

His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,
And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay ! '

" It was not that I meant to tell . . .
But thou art wise, and guessest well."
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.

Canto IT.] THE LADY OF TEE LAKE. 263

Still on the Clansman, fearfully,
She fixed her apprehensive eye ;
Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

XXV.

" The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,

Ever sing merrily, merrily ;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

Hunters live so cheerily.

" It was a stag, a stag of ten,*

BeariDg his branches sturdily ;
lie came stately down the glen,

Ever sing hardily, hardily.

" It was there he meet with a wounded Joe,

She was bleeding deatkfully ;
She warned him of the toils below,

0 so faithfully, faithfully !

" He had an eye, and he could heed,

Ever sing warily, warily ;
He had a foot, and he could speed —

Hunters watch so narrowly." —

XXYI.

Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed,

When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ;

But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,

And Blanche's song conviction brought. —

Not like a stag that spies the snare,

But lion of the hunt aware,

He waved at once his blade on high,

" Disclose thy treachery, or die ! " —

Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,

But in his race his bow he drew.

The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,

And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast. —

Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed,

For ne'er had Alpine's son such need !

With heart of fire, and foot of wind,

The fierce avenger is behind !

Fate judges of the rapid strife —

The forfeit death — the prize is life !

Thy kindred ambush lies before,

Close couched upon the heathery moor ;

Them couldst thou reach ! — it may not be—

Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er sLalt see,

The fiery Saxon gains on thee!

— llesistless speeds the deadly thrust,

As lightning strikes the pine to dust ;

Having ten brandies on his antlers.

2C4 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain,
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon'eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die ;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where .the poor maiden bleeding lay,

She sate beneath the birchen tree,

Her elbow resting on her knee ;

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,

And gazed on it, and feebly laughed ;

Her wreath of broom and feathers grey,

Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried, -

" Stranger, it is in vain ! " she cried.

" This hour of death has given me more

Of reason's power than years before ;

For, as these ebbing veins decay,

My frenzied visions fade away.

A helpless injured wretch I die,

And something tells me in thine eye,

That thou wert mine avenger born. —

Seest thou this tress 1 — 0 ! still I've worn

This little tress of. yellow hair,

Through danger, frenzy, and despair !

It once was bright and clear as thine,

But blood and tears have dimmed its shine.

I will not tell thee, when 'twas shred,

Nor from what guiltless victim's head —

My brain would turn ! — but it shall wave

Like plumage on thy helmet brave,

Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,

And thou wilt bring it me again. —

I waver still ! — 0 God ! more bright

Let Reason beam her parting light ! —

0 ! by thy knighthood's honoured sign,

And for thy life preserved by mine,

When thou shalt see a darksome man,

Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan,

With tartans broad and shadowy plume,

And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,

Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,

And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong !-

They watch for thee by pass and fell . . .

Avoid the path ... 0 Gfod ! . . . farewell."

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James ;
Fast poured his eye at pity's claims,
And now, with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murdered maid expire.
" God, in my need, be my relief,
As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! " —

CwHoJV.] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 205

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair

He blended with her bridegroom's hair ;

The mingled braid in blood he dyed,

And placed it on his bonnet side :

" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear,

No other favour will I wear,

Till this sad token I imbrue

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu !

— But hark ! what means yon faint halloo ?

The chase is up, — but they shall know,

The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." —

Barred from the known but guarded way,

Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray,

And oft must change his desperate track,

By stream and precipice turned back.

Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,

From lack of food and loss of strength,

He couched him in a thicket hoar,

And thought his toils and perils o'er : —

" Of all my rash adventures past,

This frantic feat must prove the last !

Who e'er so mad but might have guessed,

That all this Highland hornet's nest

Would muster up in swarms so soon

As e'er they heard of bands at JDoune ] —

Like bloodhounds now they search me out, —

Hark, to the whistle and the shout! —

If further through the wilds I go,

I only fall upon the foe ;

I'll couch me hei*e till evening grey.

Then darkling try my dangerous way." —

XXIX.

The shades of eve come slowly down,

The woods are wrapped in deeper brown,

The owl awakens from her dell,

The fox is heard upon the fell ;

Enough remains of glimmering light

To guide the wanderer's steps aright,

Yet not enough from far to show

His figure to the watchful foe.

With cautious step, and ear awake,

He climbs the crag and threads the brake ;

And not the summer solstice, there,

Tempered the midnight mountain air,

But every breeze, that swept the wold,

Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold.

In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famished and chilled, through ways unknown,

Tangled and steep, he journeyed on ;

Till as a rock's huge point he turned,

A watch-fire close before him burned.

XXX.

Beside its embers red and clear,
Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer;

266 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

And up lie sprung with sword in hand, —

" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand !"

" A stranger." — " What dost thou require 1" — ■

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire.

My life's beset, my path is lost,

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost. " —

"Art thou a friend to Roderick ]" — " No." —

" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ? "—

" I dare ! to him and all the band

He brings to aid his murderous hand." —

" Bold words ! — but, though the beast of game

The privilege of chase may claim,

Though space and law the stag we lend,

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend,

Who ever recked, where, how, or when,

The prowling fox was trapped or slain ]

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie,

Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" — ■

" They do, by heaven ! — Come Roderick Dim,

And of his clan the boldest two,

And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest." —

" If by the blaze I mark aright,

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."—

" Then by these tokens may'st thou know,

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." —

" Enough, enough ; sit down and share

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." —

He gave him of his Highland cheer,
The hardened flesh of mountain deer;
Dry fuel on the fire he laid,
And bade the Saxon share his plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,
Then thus his further speech addressed.
" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke,
Demands of me* avenging stroke; _
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.
It rests with me to wind my horn, —
Thou art with numbers overborne;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand :
Rut, not for clan, nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire.
In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of day;
Myself will guide thee on the way,

Canio 7.] TOE LA*DY OF THE LAKE. 267

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle's ford ;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." —

" I take thy courtesy, by Heaven,

As freely as 'tis nobly given ! " —

" Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." —

With that he shook the gathered heath,

A nd spread his plaid upon the wreath ;

And the brave foemen, side by side,

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,

And slept until the dawning beam

Purpled the mountain and the stream.

CANTO FIFTH.

THE COMBAT.

I.

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,

When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied.
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,

And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide,
And lights the fearful path on mountain side; —

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star.
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow
of War.

That early beam, so fair and sheen,
Was twinkling through the hazel screen,
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly bed,
Looked out upon the dappled sky,
Muttered their soldier matins by,
And then awaked their fire, to steal,
As short and rude, their soldier meal.
That o'er, the Gael * around him threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,
By thicket green and mountain grey.
A wildering path ! — they winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales b?tween that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;

* The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gurf, or Gaul, and terms the
Lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxons.

283 THE LADY OP TIIE LAKE. [Canto V

Then, sunk in copse, their furthest glance
Gained not the length of horsman's lance.
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to gain;
So tangled oft, that, bursting through,
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, —
That diamond dew, so pure and clear,
It rivals all but Beauty's tear !

At length they came where, stern and steep

The hill sinks down upon the deep.

Here Vennachar in silver flows,

There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;

Ever the hollow path twined on,

"Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;

An hundred men might hold the post

With hardihood against a host.

The rugged mountain's scanty cloak

"Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,

With shingles bare, and cliffs between,

And patches bright of bracken green,

And heather black, that waved so high,

It held the copse in rivalry.

But where the lake slept deep and still,

Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ;

And oft both path and hill were torn,

Where wintry torrent down had borne,

And heaped upon the cumbered land

Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.

So toilsome was the road to trace,

The guide, abating of his pace,

Led slowly through the pass's jaws,

And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause

He sought these wilds 1 traversed by few,

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried,
Hangs in my belt, and by my side;
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said,
" I dreamed not now to claim its aid.
When here, but three days since, I came,
Bewildered in pursuit of game,
All seemed as peaceful and as still,
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ;
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,
Nor soon expected back from war. "
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide,
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied."-
" Yet why a second venture try]" —
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! —
Moves our free course by such fixed cause,
As gives the poor mechanic laws 1

CaiiU) K] THE LAD5T OF THE LAKE. 269

Enough, I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day;
Slight cause will then suffice to guide
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, —
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,
The merry glance of mountain maid ;
Or, if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone." —

" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not; —
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,
Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war,
Against Clan- Alpine raised by Mar]" —
" No, by my word ; — of bands prepared
To guard King James's sports I heard ;
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear
This muster of the mountaineer,
Their pennons will abroad be flung,
"Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." -
" Free be they flung ! for we were loth
Their silken folds should feast the moth.
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave
Clan- Alpine's pine in banner brave.
But, Stranger, peaceful since you came,
Bewildered in the mountain game,
Whence the bold h ast by which you ahow
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe ] " —
" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Save as an outlawed desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who, in the Regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart." —

"Wrothful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl.
A space he paused, then sternly said,
" And heard'st thou why he drew his blade ?
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ?
"What recked the Chieftain if he stood
On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood ?
He rights such wrong where it is given,
If it were in the court of heaven. " —
" Still was it outrage; — yet, 'tis true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his due;
While Albany, with feeble hand,
Held borrowed truncheon of command,
The young King, mewed in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.

270 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto V.

But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! —
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain
His herds and harvest reared in rain, —
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne." —

The Gael beheld him grim the while,

And answered with disdainful smile, — ■

"Saxon, from yonder mountain high,

I marked thee send delighted eye,

Far to the south and east, where lay,

Extended in succession gay,

Deep waving fields and pastures green,

With gentle slopes aud groves between : —

These fertile plains, that softened vale,

Were once the birth-right of the Gael ;

The stranger came with iron hand,

And from our fathers reft the land.

Where dwell we now ! See, rudely swell

Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.

Ask we this savage hill we tread,

For fattened steer or household bread :

Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,

And well the mountain might reply,—

' To you, as to your sires of yore,

Belong the target and claymore !

I give you shelter in my breast,

Your own good blades must win the rest.'—

Pent in this fortress of the North,

Think'st thou we will not sally forth,

To spoil the spoiler as we may,

And from the robber rend the prey ?

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain

The Saxon rears one shock of grain ;

While, of/ten thousand herds, there stray 3

But one along yon river's maze, —

The Gael, of plain and river heir,

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.

Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold,

That plundering Lowland field and fold

Is aught but retribution true 1

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu."

Answered Fitz-James, — "And, if I. sought,

Think'st thou no other could be brought ?

What deem ye of my path way-laid,

My life given o'er to ambuscade 1 " —

" As of a meed to rashness due :

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, —

I seek my hound, or falcon strayed,

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid,—

Canto V.] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 271

Free badst thou been to come and go ;

But secret path marks secret foe.

Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,

Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die,

Save to fulfil an augury." —

" Well, let it pass; nor will I now

Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.

Enough, I am by promise tied

To match me with this man of pride :

Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen

In peace ; but when I come agen,

I come with banner, brand and bow,

As leader seeks his mortal foe.

For love-lom swain, in lady's bower,

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,

As I, until beftre me stand

This rebel Chieftain and his band.''—

IX.

" Have, then, thy wish ! "—he whittled shrill,

And he was answered from the hill ;

Wild as the scream of the curlicu,

From crag to crag the signal flew.

Instant, through copse and heath, arose

Bonnets and spears and bended bows ;

On right, on left, above, below,

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ;

From shingles grey their lances start,

The bracken bush sends forth the dart,

The rushes and the willow-wand

Are bristling into axe and brand,

And every tuft of broom gives life

To plaided warrior armed for strife.

That whistle garrisoned the glen

At once with full five hundred men,

As if the yawning hill to heaven

A subterranean host had given.

Watching their leader's beck and will,

All silent there they stood and still.

Like the loose crags whose threatening mass

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,

As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down th°e verge,

With step and weapon forward flung,

Upon the mountain side they hung.

The mountaineer cast glance of pride

Along Benledi's living side,

Then fixed his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James— " How say'st thou now ?

Ihese are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ;

And, Saxon,— I am Roderick Lhu !"—

x.

Fitz-James was brave :— Though to his heart
Ihe life-blood thrilled with sudden start

272 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto V.

He manned himself with dauntless air,

Returned the Chief his haughty stare,

His hack against a rock he bore,

And firmly placed his foot before : —

" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly

From its firm base as soon as I." —

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes

Respect was mingled with surprise,

And the stern joy which warriors feel

In foemen worthy of their steel.

Short space he stood — then waved his hand

Down sunk the disappearing band ;

Each warrior vanished where he stood,

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ;

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow,

In osiers pale and copses low ;

It seemed as if their mother Earth

Had swallowed up her warlike birth.

The wind's last breath had tossed in air,

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, —

The next but swept a lone hill-side,

Where heath and fern were waving wide ;

The sun's last glance was glinted back,

From spear and. glaive, from targe and jack, —

The next, all unreflected, shone

On bracken green, and cold grey stone.

Fitz-James looked round — yet scarce believed

The witness that his sight received ;

Such apparition well might seem

Delusion of a dreadful dream.

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed,

And to his look the Chief replied,

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say —

But — doubt not aught from mine array.

Thou art my guest ;— I pledged my word

As far as Coilantogle ford ;

Nor would I call a clansman's brand

For aid against one valiant hand,

Though on our strife lay every vale

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.

So move we on ; — I only meant

To show the reed on which you leant,

Deeming this path you might pursue

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." —

They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave,

As ever knight that belted glaive;

Yet dare not say, that now his blood

Kept on its wont and tempered flood,

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew

That seeming lonesome pathway through,

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife

With lances, that to take his life

Oanto V.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 273

Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonoured and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanished guardians of the ground,
And still from copse and heather deep,
Fancy saw spear and broad-sword peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain,
The signal whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far behind
The pass was left ; for then they wind
Along a wide and level green,
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near,
To hide a bonnet or a spear.

The Chief in silence strode before,

And reached that torrent's sounding shore,

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,

From Vennachar in silver breaks,

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines

On Bochastle the mouldering lines,

Where Rome, the Empress of the world,

Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.

And here his course the Chieftain stayed,

Threw down his target and his plaid,

And to the Lowland warrior said : —

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just,

Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.

This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,

This head of a rebellious clan,

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.

Now, man to man, and steel to steel,

A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand,

Armed like thyself, with single brand ;

For this is Coilantogle ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword."—

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delayed.

When foeman bade me draw my blade ;

Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death:

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,

And my deep debt for life preserved,

A better meed have well deserved : —

Can nought but blood our feud atone 1

Are there no means ?" " No, Stranger, none !

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, —

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ;

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred

Between the living and the dead ;

" Who spills the foremost foeman's life,

His party conquers in the strife." —

18

274 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto V

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said,

" The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, —

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy,

TLen yield to Fate, and not to me.

To James, at Stirling, let us go,

When, if thou wilt be still his foe,

Or if the King shall not agree

To grant thee grace and favour free,

I plight mine honour, oath, and word,

That, to thy native strengths restored,

With each advantage shalt thou stand,

That aids thee now to guard thy land." —

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye—
"Soars thy presumption then so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dim !
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate !
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : —
My clansman's blood demands revenge. —
Not yet prepared ] — By heaven, I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet-knight,
Who ill-deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair." —
— " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word !
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ;
For I have sworn this braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone ! —
Yet think not that by thee alone,
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown;
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,
Start at my whistle clansmen stern,
Of this small horn one feeble blast
Would fearful odds against thee cast.
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt —
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." —
Then each at once his falchion drew,
Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain,
As what they ne'er might see again ;
Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed.

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dku,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dashed aside;

C"nt0 r0 THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
fritz-James's blade was sword and shield.
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard-
While less expert, though stronger far'
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood
And thrice the Saxon blade drank bloou-
JN o stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing flood the tartans dyed'.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain
And showered his blows like wintry rain;
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof,
Against the winter shower is proof,
1 he foe invulnerable still
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill;
i ill, at advantage ta'en, his brand
frorced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
And, backwards borne upon the lea,
.Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee

Aow, yield thee, or, by Him who made
7<w^wor}d' thy Leart's blood dyes my bL

Iny threats, thy mercy, I defy '
Let recreant yield, who fears to die "—
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil
Like mountain-cat who guards her youn-
frull at fritz- James's throat he sprun^ °'
Received, but recked not of a woundf
And locked his arms his foeman round —
i\ow, gallant Saxon, hold thine own "
Ao maiden's hand is round thee thrown '
1 hat desperate grasp thy frame might feel,
inrougn bars of brass and triple steel '—
I hey tug, they strain !— down, down, thev go,
the Gael above, Fitz-James below.
1 he Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed,
His knee was planted in his breast-
His clotted locks he backward threw
Across his brow his hand he drew
From blood and mist to clear his Bight,
then gleamed aloft his dagger bright '—
— Lut hate and fury ill supplied
ihe stream of life's exhausted tide
-^nd all too late the advantage came
lo turn the odds of deadly game;
fror while the dagger gleamed on high,
lieeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eve.
JJown came the blow ! but in the heath
1 he erring blade found bloodless sheath.
1 ne struggling foe mav now unclasp
Ihe fainting Chiefs relaxlne grasp;

275

276 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [Canto V,

Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-Jaines arose.

He faltered thanks to Heaven for life,

Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife;

Next on his foe his look he cast,

Whose every gasp appeared his last;

In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid,1 —

" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid :

Yet with thy foe must die, or live,

The praise that Faith and Valour give." —

With that he blew a bugle-note,

Undid the collar from his throat,

Unbonnetted, and by the wave

Sate down his brow and hands to lave.

Then faint afar are heard the feet

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet;

The sounds increase, and now are seen

Four mounted squires in Lincoln green;

Two who bear lance, and two who lead,

By loosened rein, a saddled steed ;

Each onward held his headlong course,

And by Fitz-James reined up his horse, —

With wonder viewed the bloody spot —

— " Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. —

You, Herbert and Luffness, alight,

And bind the wounds of yonder knight ;

Let the grey palfrey bear his weight,

We destined for a fairer freight,

And bring him on to Stirling straight ;

I will before at better speed,

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed.

The sun rides high ; — I must be boune

To see the archer-game at noon ;

But lightly Bayard clears the lea. —

De Vaux and Hemes, follow me.

" Stand, Bayard, stand ! " — the steed obeyed,

With arching neck and bended head,

And glancing eye, and quivering ear,

As if he loved his lord to hear.

No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed,

No grasp upon the saddle laid,

But wreathed his left hand in the main,

And lightly bounded from the plain,

Turned on the horse his armed heel,

And stirred his courage with the steel.

Bounded the fiery steed in air,

The rider sate erect and fair,

Then, like a bolt from steel cross-bow

Forth launched, along the plain they go.

They dashed that rapid torrent through,

And up Carhonie's hill they flew;

Canto K] "~TIIE LADY OF THE LAKE. 07*

Still at the gallop pricked the Knight,
His merry-men followed as they might.
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride,
And in the race they mock thy tide;
Tony and Lendrick now are past,
And Deanstown lies behind them cast;
They rise, the bannered towers of Dcune,
They sink in distant woodland soon ;
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;
They mark just glance and disappear
The lofty brow of ancient Kier;
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides.
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides,
And on the opposing shore take ground,
With plash, with scramble, and with bound.
Eight-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth '
And soon the bulwark of the North,
Grey Stirling, with her towers and town,
Upon their fleet career looked down.

XIX.

As up the flinty path they strained,

Sudden his steed the leader reined ;

A signal to his squire he flung,

Who instant to his stirrup sprung : —

"Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman grey,

Who town-ward holds the rocky way,

Of stature tall and poor array ]

Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride,

With which he scales the mountain side?

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom V—

" No, by my word;— a burly groom

He seems, who in the field or chase

A Baron's train would nobly grace." —

"Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply,

And jealousy, no sharper eye ]

Afar, ere to the hill he drew,

That stately form and step I knew;

Like form in Scotland is not seen,

Treads not such step on Scottish green.

'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle !

The uncle of the banished Earl.

Away, away, to court, to show

The near approach of dreaded foe:

The king must stand upon his guard;

Douglas and he must meet prepared."—

Then right-hand wheeled their steeds, and straight

Iney won the castle's postern gate.

xx.

The Douglas, who had bent his way
From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey grey,
Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf,"
Held sad communion with himself:

278 TEE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. [Canto V.

" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame;

A prisoner lies the noble Graeme,

And fiery Roderick soon will feel

The vengeance of the royal steel.

I, only I, can ward their fate, —

God grant the ransom come not late !

The Abbess hath her promise given,

My child shall be the bride of Heaven ; —

— Be pardoned one repining tear!

For He, who gave her, knows how dear,

How excellent — but that is by,

And now my business is to die.

— Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread

A Douglas by his sovereign bled,

And thou, 0 sad and fatal mound !*

That oft has heard the death-axe sound,

As on the noblest of the land

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand, —

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb

Prepare, — for Douglas seeks his doom !

— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel 1

And see ! upon the crowded street,

In motley groups what masquers meet I

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,

And merry morrice-dancers come.

I guess, by all this quaint array,

The burghers hold their sports to-day.

James will be there; — he loves such show,

Where the good yeoman bends his bow,

And the tough wrestler foils his foe,

As well as where, in proud career,

The high-born tilter shivers spear.

I'll follow to the Castle-park,

And play my prize; — King James shall mark,

If age has tamed these sinews stark,

Whose force so oft, in happier days,

His boyish wonder loved to praise." —

The Castle gates were open flung,

The quivering draw-bridge rocked and rung,

And echoed loud the flinty street

Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,

As slowly down the steep descent

Fair Scotland's King and nobles went,

While all along the crowded way

Was jubilee and loud huzza.

And ever James was bending low,

To his white jennet's saddle bow,

Doffing his cap to city dame,

Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame.

* An eminence on the north- east of the castle, where state criminals
were executed. See Note.

Canto rj THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 279

And well the simperer might be vain,—

He chose the fairest of the train.

Gravely he greets each city sire,

Commends each pageant's quaint attire,

Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,

And smiles and nods upon the crowd,

Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,

" Long live the Commons' King, King James ! "

Behind the King thronged peer and knight,

And noble dame and damsel bright,

"Whose fiery steeds ill-brooked the stay

Of the steep street and crowded way.

— But in the train you might discern

Dark lowering brow and visage stern;

There nobles mourned their pride restrained,

And the mean burgher's joys disdained ;

And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,

Were each from home a banished man,

There thought upon their own grey tower,

Their waving woods, their feudal power,

And deemed themselves a shameful part

Of pageant which they cursed in heart.

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out
Their chequered bands the joyous rout.
There morricers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand
Bold Robin Hood and all his baud, —
Friar Tuck with quarter-staff and cowl,
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl,
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;
Their bugles challenge all that will,
In archery to prove their skill.
The Douglas bent a bow of might, —
His first shaft centred in the white,
And when in turn he shot again,
His second split the first in twain.
From the King's hand must Douglas take
A silver dart, the archers' stake;
Fondly he watched, with watery eye,
Some answering glance of sympathy, —
No kind emotion made reply !
Indifferent as to archer wight,
The Monarch gave the arrow bright.

Now, clear the Ring ! for, hand to hand,
The manly wrestlers take their stand.
Two o'er the rest superior rose,
And proud demanded mightier foes,
Nor called in vain ; for Douglas came.
— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame,

2S0 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. {Canto V.

Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,
Whom senseless home his comrades hear.
Prize of the wrestling match, the King
To Douglas gave a golden ring,
While coldly glanced his eye of blue,
As frozen drop of wintry dew.
Douglas would speak, but in his breast
His struggling soul his words suppressed:
Indignant then he turned him where
Their arms the brawny yeoman bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.
When each his utmost strength had shown,
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone
From its deep bed, then heaved it high,
And sent the fragment through the sky,
A rood beyond the furthest mark ; —
And still in Stirling's royal park,
The grey-haired sires, who know the past,
To strangers point the Douglas-cast,
And moralize on the decay
Of Scottish strength in modern day.

The vale with loud applauses rang,
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang ;
The King, with look unmoved, bestowed
A purse well filled with pieces broad.
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,
And threw the gold among the crowd,
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,
And sharper glance, the dark grey man;
Till whispers rose among the throng,
That heart so free, and hand so strong,
Must to the Douglas blood belong :
The old men marked, and shook the head,
To see his hair with silver spread,
And winked aside, and told each son
Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand
Was exiled from his native land.
The women praised his stately form,
Though wrecked by many a winter's storm
The youth with awe and wonder saw
His strength surpassing Nature's law.
Thus j udged, as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamours loud.
But not a glance from that proud ring
Of peers who circled round the King,
With Douglas held communion kind,
Or called the banished man to mind ;
No, not from those who, at the chase,
Once held his side the honoured place,
Begirt his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield ;

Canto V.\ THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 2S1

For he, whom royal eyes disown,
When was his form to courtiers known !

The Monarch saw the gambols flag,

And bade let loose a gallant stag,

Whose pride, the holiday to crown,

Two favourite grey-hounds should pull down,

That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,

Might serve the archery to dine.

But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side,

Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,

The fleetest hound in all the North, —

Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth.

She Left the royal hounds mid-way,

And, dashing on the antlered prey,

Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,

And deep the flowing life-blood drank.

The King's stout huntsman saw the sport

By strange intruder broken short,

Came up, and, with his leash unbound,

In anger struck the noble hound.

— The Douglas had endured, that morn,

The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn,

And last, and worst to spirit proud,

Had borne the pity of the crowd ;

But Lufra had been fondly bred,

To share his board, to watch his bed,

And oft would Ellen, Lufra 's neck,

In maiden glee, with garlands deck ;

They were such play-mates, that with name

Of Lufra, Ellen's image came.

His stifled wrath is brimming high,

In darkened brow and flashing eye; —

As waves before the bark divide,

The crowd gave way before his stride;

Needs but a buffet and no more,

The groom lies senseless in his gore.

Such blow no other hand could deal,

Though gauntletted in glove of steel.

Then clamoured loud the royal train,
And brandished swords and staves amain.
But stern the Baron's warning — " Back !
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack !
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold,
King James, the Douglas, doomed of old,
And vainly sought for near and far,
A victim to atone the war,
A willing victim, now attends,
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends. "-
— " Thus is my clemency repaid?
Presumptuous lord ! " the Monarch said ;

282 THE LADY OE THE LAKE. [Canto V.

" Of thy mis- proud ambitious clan,

Thou, James of Both well, wert the man,

The ouly man, in whom a foe

My woman-mercy would not know :

But shall a Monarch's presence brook

Injurious blow, and haughty look ] —

What ho ! the Captain of our Guard !

Give the offender fitting ward. —

Break off the sports ! " — for tumult rose,

And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, —

" Break off the sports ! " — he said, and frowned,

" And bid our horsemen clear the ground. " —

Then uproar wild and misarray

Marred the fair form of festal day.

The horsemen pricked among the crowd,

Repelled by threats and insult loud ;

To earth are borne the old and weak,

The timorous fly, the women shriek ;

With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar,

The hardier urge tumultuous war.

At once round Douglas darkly sweep

The royal spears in circle deep,

And slowly scale the path-way steep;

While on the rear in thunder pour

The rabble with disordered roar.

With grief the noble Douglas saw

The commons rise against the law,

And to the leading soldier said, —

" Sir John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade,

That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;

For that good deed, permit me then

A word with these misguided men. —

" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet, for me,

Te break the bands of fealty.

My life, my honour, and my cause,

I tender free to Scotland's laws.

Are these so weak as must require

The aid of your misguided ire?

Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,

Is then my selfish rage so strong,

My sense of public weal so low,

That for mean vengeance on a foe.

Those chords of love I should unbind,

Which knit my country and my kind '?

Oh no ! Believe, in yonder tower

It will not soothe my captive hour,

To know those spears our foes should dread,

For me in kindred gore are red ;

To know, in fruitless brawl begun.

For me, that mother wails her son;

Canto V] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 2S3

For me, that widow's mate expires,
For me, that orphans weep their sires,
That patriots mourn insulted laws,*
And curse the Douglas for the cause.
O let your patience ward such ill,
And keep your right to love me still ! :' —

The crowd's wild fury sunk again

In tears, as tempests melt in raiu.

With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed

For blessings on his generous head,

Who for his country felt alone,

And prized her blood beyond his own.

Old men, upon the verge of life,

Blessed him who stayed the civil strife;

And mothers held their babes on high,

The self-devoted Chief to spy,

Triumphant over wrong and ire,

To whom the prattlers owed a sire :

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ;

As if behind some bier beloved,

With trailing arms and drooping head,

The Douglas up the hill he led,

And at the Castle's battled verge,

With sighs, resigned his honoured charge.

The offended Monarch rode apart,
With bitter thought and swelling heart,
And would not now vouchsafe again
Through Stirling streets to lead his train.
" 0 Lennox, who would wish to rule
This changeling crowd, this common fool 1
Hear'st thou," he said, "the loud acclaim,
With which they shout the Douglas name ?
With like acclaim, the vulgar throat
Strained for King James their morning note :
With like acclaim they hailed the day
When first I broke the Douglas sway :
And like acclaim w^ould Douglas greet,
If he could hurl me from my seat.
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign,
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain !
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream ;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood.
Thou many-headed monster thing,
0 who would wish to be thy king ! —

" But soft ! wbat messenger of speed
Spurs hitherward his panting steed ]

284 TIIE IiADT OF THE LAKE. [Canto V.

I guess his cognizance afar —

What f^om our cousin, John of Marl" —

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound

Within the safe and guarded ground :

For some foul purpose yet unknown, —

Most sure for evil to the throne, —

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,

Has summoned his rebellious crew ;

'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid

These loose banditti stand arrayed.

The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,

To break their muster marched, and soon

Your grace will hear of battle fought ;

But earnestly the Earl besought,

Till for such danger he provide,

With scanty train you will not ride. " —

XXXII.

" Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, —
I should have earlier looked to this :
I lost it in this bustling day.
— Retrace with speed thy former way ;
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
The best of mine shall be thy meed.
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,
We do forbid the intended war ;
Roderick, this morn, in single fight,
Was made our prisoner by a knight,
And Douglas hath himself and cause
Submitted to our kingdom's laws.
The tidings of their leaders lost
Will soon dissolve the mountain host,
Nor would we that the vulgar feel,
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steeh
Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly." — _
He turned his steed, — " My liege, I hie,
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,
I fear the broad-swords will be drawn." —
The turf the flying courser spurned,
And to his towers the King returned.

XXXIII.

Ill with King James's mood that day,

Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ;

Soon were dismissed the courtly throng,

And soon cut short the festal song.

Nor less upon the saddened town

The evening sunk in sorrow down.

The burghers spoke of civil jar,_

Of rumoured feuds and mountain war,

Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,

All up in arms : — the Douglas too,

They mourned him pent within the hold,

"Where stout Earl William was of old,"*—

* Stabbed by James II. in Stirling Castle.

STIRLING CASTLE

Canto VL] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 2S5

And there his word the speaker stayed,
And finger on his lip he laid,
Or pointed to his dagger blade.
But jaded horsemen, from the west,
At evening to the Castle pressed ;
And busy talkers said they bore
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore ;
At noon the deadly fray began,
And lasted till the set of sun.
Thus giddy rumour shook the town,
Till closed the Night her pennons brown.

CANTO SIXTH.

THE GUARD-ROOM.

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance,
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ;
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,

Scaring the prowling robber to his den ;
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance,

And warning student pale to leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, 0 ! what scenes of woe,

Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam !
The fevered patient, from his pallet low,

Through crowded hospital beholds it stream ;
The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam,

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail,
The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream ;

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble
wail.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang
With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, foretell
Relief to weary sentinel.
Through narrow loop and casement barred,
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,
And struggling with the smoky air,
Deadened the torches' yellow glare.
In comfortless alliance shone
The lights through arch of blackened stone,
And showed wild shapes in garb of war,
Faces deformed with beard and scar,
All haggard from the midnight watch,
And fevered with the stern debauch ;

2SG THE LADY OF THE LAKE. | Canto VI,

For the oak table's massive board,
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,
And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown,
Showed in what sport the night had flown.
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ;
Some laboured still their thirst to quench ;
Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,
While round them, or beside them flung,
At every step their harness rung.

These drew not for their fields the sword,

Like tenants of a feudal lord,

Nor owned the patriarchal claim

Of Chieftain in their leader's name ;

Adventurers they, from far who roved,

To live by battle which they loved.

There the Italian's clouded face,

The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace ;

The mountain-loving Switzer there

More freely breathed in mountain air ;

The Fleming there despised the soil,

That paid so ill the labourer's toil ;

Their rolls showed French and German name ;

And merry England's exiles came,

To share, with ill-concealed disdain,

Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.

All brave in arms, well trained to wield

The heavy halbert, brand, and shield ;

In camps licentious, wild, and bold;

In pillage, fierce and uncontrolled ;

And now, by holytide and feast,

From rules of discipline released.

They held debate of bloody fray,

Fought twixt Loch-Katrine and Achray.

Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords ;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear

Of wounded comrades groaning near,

Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,

Bore token of the mountain sword,

Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ;

Sad burden to the ruffian joke,

And savage oath by fury spoke ! —

At length up started John of Brent,

A yeoman from the banks of Trent ;

A stranger to respect or fear,

In peace a chaser of the deer,

In host a hardy mutineer,

But still the boldest of the crew,

When deed of danger was to do.

Canto VI] THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 2S7

He grieved, that day their games cut short,
And warred the dicer's brawling sport,
And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl !
And, while a merry catch I troll,
Let each the buxom chorus bear,
Like brethren of the brand and spear."

Holbkr's SSong.

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black jack.
And the seven deadly sins iu a flaggon of sack ;
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! oif with thy liquor,
Drink upsees * out, and a fig for the vicar !

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip

The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip,

Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly,

And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye;

Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker,

Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar !

Our vicar thus preaches— and why should he not 1
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ;
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch,
Who infringe the domains of our good mother Church.
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with your liquor,
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar !

The warder's challenge, heard without,

Stayed in mid roar the merry shout.

A soldier to the portal went, —

" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;

And, beat for jubilee the drum !

A maid ami minstrel with hini come." —

Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarred,

Was entering now the Court of Guard,

A harper with him, and, in plaid

All muffied close a wountain maid.

Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view

Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.

" What news !" they roared : — " I only know,

From noon till eve we fought with foe,

As wild and as untameable,

As the rude mountains where they dwell.

On both sides store of blood is lost,

Nor much success can either boast." —

" But whence thy captives, friend 1 such spoil

As theirs must needs reward thy toil.

A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dulch.

288 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto 71.

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ;
Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp,
Get thee an ape, and trudge the land,
The leader of a juggler band." —

" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine.

After the fight, these sought our line,

That aged harper and the girl,

And, having audience of the Earl,

Mar bade I should purvey them steed,

And bring them hitherward with speed.

Forbear your mirth and rude alarm,

For none shall do them shame or harm." —

" Hear ye his boast ! " cried John of Brent,

Ever to strife and jangling bent,

" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,

And yet the jealous niggard grudge

To pay the forester his fee !

I'll have my share howe'er it be,

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." —

Bertram his forward step withstood ;

And, burning in his vengeful mood,

Old Allan, though unfit for strife,

Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ;

But Ellen boldly stepped between,

And dropped at once the tartan screen ;—

So, from his morning cloud, appears

The sun of May, through summer tears.

The savage soldiery, amazed,

As on descended angel gazed ;

Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed,

Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

Boldly she spoke, — "Soldiers, attend!

My father was the soldier's friend ;

Cheered him in camps, in marches led,

And -with him in the battle bled.

Not from the valiant, or the strong

Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." —

Answered Be Brent, most forward still

In every feat or good or ill, —

" I shame me of the part I played:

And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid !

An outlaw I by forest laws,

And merry Needwood knows the cause.

Poor Eose, — if Rose be living now," —

He wiped his iron eye and brow,

" Must bear such age, I think, as thou.—

Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call

The Captain of our watch to hall :

There lies my halbert on the floor ;

And he that steps my halbert o'er,

Canto 71. ] TIIE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. 289

To do tlie maid injurious part,
My shaft shall quiver in his heart !—
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough :
Ye all know John de Brent. F.nough."

Their Captain came, a gallant young, —

(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung.)

Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ;

Gay was his mien, his humour light.

And, though by courtesy controlled,

Forward his speech, his bearing bold.

The high-born maiden ill could brook

The scanning of his curious look

And dauntless eye ; — and, yet, in sooth,

Young Lewis was a generous youth ;

But Ellen's lovely face and mien,

111 suited to the garb and scene,

Might lightly bear construction strange,

And give loose fancy scope to range.

— " Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!

Come ye to seek a champion's aid,

On palfrey white, with harper hoar,

Like arrant damosel of yore ]

Does thy high quest a knight require,

Or may the venture suit a squire V —

Her dark eye flashed ; — she paused and si

" 0 what have I to do with pride ! —

— Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,

A suppliant for a father's life,

I crave an audience of the King.

Behold, to back my suit, a ring,

The royal pledge of grateful claims,

Given by the Monarch to Fitz- James." —

The signet ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and altered look;
And said, — " This ring our duties own ;
And, pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veiled,
Lady, in aught my folly failed.
Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The King shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower
Repose you till his waking hour ;
Female attendance shall obey
Your best, for service or array.
Permit I marshal you the way.'' —
But, ere she followed, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,
She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.
The rest with thanks their guerdon took
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,

19

290 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto VL

On the reluctant maiden's hold

Forced bluntly back the proffered gold ; —

" Forgive a haughty English heart,

A.nd 0 forget its ruder part !

The vacant purse shall be my share,

Which in my barret-cap I'll bear,

Perchance, in jeopardy of war,

Where gayer crests may keep afar." —

With thanks, — 'twas all she could, — the maid

His rugged courtesy repaid.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent : — ■
" My lady safe, 0 let your grace
Give me to see my master's face !
His minstrel I, — to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the tomb.
Tenth in descent, since first my sires
Waked for his noble house their lyres,
Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above tbeir own.
With the Chiefs birth begins our care;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace
His earliest feat of field or chase;
In peaGe, in war, our rank Ave keep,
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep.
Nor leave him till we pour our verse,
A doleful tribute ! o'er his hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot ;
It is my right — deny it not ! " —
" Little we reck," said John of Brent,
" We Southern men, of long descent ;
Nor wot we how a name — a word —
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord :
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, —
God bless the house of Beaudesert !
And, but I loved to drive the deer,
More than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see."-

Then, from a rusted iron hook,
A bunch of ponderous keys he took,
Lighted a torch, and Allan led
Through grated arch and passage dread.
Portals they passed, where deep within,
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetter's din;
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored,
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword,
And many an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,

Car.to VI] TIIE LADY OP THE LAKE. 291

By artists formed, who deemed it shame

And sin to give their work a name.

They halted at a low-browed porch,

And Brent to Allan gave the torch,

While bolt and chain he backward rolled,

And made the bar unhasp its hold.

They entered: — 'twas a prison-room

Of stern security and gloom,

Yet not a dungeon ; for the day

Through lofty gratings found its way.

And rude and antique garniture

Decked the sad walls and oaken floor ;

Such as the rugged days of old,

Deemed fit for captive noble's hold.

" Here," said De Brent, "thou may'st remain

Till the Leech visit him again.

Strict is his charge, the warders tell,

To tend the noble prisoner well." —

Retiring then the bolt he drew,

And the lock's murmurs growled anew.

Roused at the sound, from lowly bed

A captive feebly raised his head ;

The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew

Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dim !

For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,

They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought.

A s the tall ship, whose lofty prore

Shall never stem the billows more,

Deserted by her gallant band,

Amid the breakers lies astrand, —

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu !

And oft his fevered limbs he threw

In toss abrupt, as when her sides

Lie rocking in the advancing tides,

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,

Yet cannot heave her from her seat; —

0 ! how unlike her course on sea !

Or his free step on hill and lea ! —

Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,

— " What of thy lady ] — of my clan ? — ■

My mother ? — Douglas ] — tell me all !

Have they been ruined in my fall ]

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here !

Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." —

(For Allan, who his mood well knew,

Was choked with grief and terror too.) —

" Who fought — who fled ! — Old man, be brief;—

Some might — for they had lost their Chief.

Who basely live? — who bravely died?" —

" 0, calm thee, Chief !" the Minstrel cried,

" Ellen is safe ; " — " For that, thank heaven ! "

" And hopes are for the Douglas given; —

292 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. {Oar.tO 71

The Lady Margaret too is well,

And, for thy clan, — on field or fell.

Has never harp of minstrel told.

Of combat fought so true and bold.

Thy stately pine is yet unbent,

Though many a goodly bough is rent." —

The Chieftain reared his form on high,

And fever's fire was in his eye;

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks

Chequered his swarthy brow and cheeks.

— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play;

With measure bold on festal day,

In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er

Shall harper play, or warrior hear ! . . .

That stirring air that peals on high,

O'er Dermid's race our victory. —

Strike it ! — and then, (for well thou canst,)

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,

Fling me the picture of the fight,

When met my clan the Saxon might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears !

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,

For the fair field of fighting men,

And my free spirit burst away,

As if it soared from battle-fray." —

The trembling bard with awe obeyed, —

Slow on the harp his hand he laid ;

But soon remembrance of the sight

He witnessed from the mountain's height,

With what old Bertram told at night,

Awakened the full power of song,

And bore him in career along ;

As shallop launched on river's tide,

That slow and fearful leaves the side,

But, when it feels the middle stream,

Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

Haiti* of $*al* hk §imx&.

" The Minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue,
For, ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray —
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! —
There is no breeze upon the fern,

No ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyrie nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,

Cento TV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 293

So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,

Benledi's distant hill.
Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground

The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance

That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance
The sun's retiring beams ]
— I see the dagger-crest of Alar,
I see the Moray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far .'
To hero boune for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,
"JVere worth ten years of peaceful life,
Oue glance at their array !

" Their light-armed archers far and near

Surveyed the tangled ground,
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,

A twilight forest frowned,
Their barded horsemen, in the rear,

The stern battalia crowned.
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,

Still were the pipe and drum ;
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

The sullen march was dumb.
There breathed no wind their crests to shake,

Or wave their flags abroad ;
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,

That shadowed o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,

Can rouse no lurking foe,
Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirred the roe;
The host moves, like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,

High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is passed, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ;
And here the horse and spear-men pause,
'While, to explore the dangerous glen,
l)ive through the pass the archer-men

" At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, froni heaven that fell,
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell !

294 THE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. \Canto VI.

Forth from the pass in -tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear:
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply—
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broad-swords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.

Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued ;

Before that tide of flight and chase,

How shall it keep its rooted place,
The spearmen's twilight wood ]

■ — ' Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down !
Bear back both friend and foe ! '

Like reeds before the tempest's frown,

That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levelled low;

And closely shouldering side to side,

The bristling ranks the onset bide. —

— ' We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel* cows the game !

They come as fleet as forest deer,
We'll drive them back as tame.' —

" Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
llight onward did Clan- Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broad-sword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurled them on the foe.
I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ;
I heard the broad-sword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang !
But Moray wheeled his rear-ward rank
Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's flank, — ■

■ — 'My banner-man, advance !

I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. —

Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake,

Upon them with the lance!' —

The horsemen dashed among the route,

As deer break through the broom;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.

* A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gra-
dually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which
usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel,

Canto YL] T '^ UDY OF TOE LAKE.

Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne —

Where, where, was Roderick then !
One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear

The battle's tide was poured ;
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,

Vanished the mountain sword.
As Brack! inn's chasm, so black and steep,

Receives her roaring linn,
As the dark caverns of the deep

Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass ;
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

" Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.
— Minstrel, away ! the work of fate
Is bearing on : its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosach's dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. —
Grey Ben-venue I soon repassed,
Loch- Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set ; — the clouds are met,

The lowering scowl of heaven
A n inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given ;
Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard that sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.

Nearer it comes— the dim-wood glen

The martial liood disgorged ageii,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth,

And overhang its side;
While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shattered band,
Kyeing their foemen, sternly stand ;
Their banners stream like tattered sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Marked the fell havoc of the day.

296 THE LADX OF THE LAKE. [Cfomfc VI,

" Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,
The Saxons stood in sullen trance,
Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried — 'Behold yon isle ! —
See ! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
'Tis there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile;—
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'- —
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corslet rung,

He plunged him in the wave: —
All saw the deed— the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
Poured down at once the lowering heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast,
Her billows reared their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swelled they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. —
In vain. — He nears the isle — and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
— Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame;—
I marked Luncraggan's widowed dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,
A naked dirk gleamed in her hand: —
It darkened,— but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan ; —
Another flash ! — the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern Matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

" ' Revenge ! revenge ! ' the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twist the hosts a milk-white flag.

CtmCo TV.] THE LADT OP TliE LAKE. 297

Clarion and trumpet by Lis side

Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,

"While, in the monarch's name, afar

An herald's voice forbade the war,

For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,

Were both, he said, in captive hold."

— But here the lay made sudden stand,

The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand! —

Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy

How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:

At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,

With lifted hand, kept feeble time;

That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong

Varied his look as changed the song;

At length, no more his deafened ear

The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp, — his hands are clenched,

As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched ;

Set are his teeth, his fading eye

Is sternly fixed on vacancy; —

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu ! —

Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,

While grim and still his spirit passed;

But when he saw that life was tied,

He poured his wailing o'er the dead.

|Cam«ti.

" And art thou cold, and lowly laid,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!
For thee shall none a requiem say ?
— For thee, — who loved the minstrel's lay.
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,
The shelter of her exiled line,
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honoured pine!

" What groans shall yonder valleys fill !
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill !
What tears of burning rage shall thrill,
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,
Thy fall before the race was won,
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun !
There breathes not clansman of thy line,
But would have given his life for thine. —
0 woe for Alpine's honoured pine !

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! —
The captive thrush may brook the cage,
The prisoned eagle dies for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain !
And, when its notes awake again,

298 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto IV.

Even she, so long beloved in vain.
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
And mix her woe and tears with mine,
To wail Clan- Alpine's honoured pine. " —

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,

Remained in lordly bower apart,

Where played, with many coloured gleams,

Through storied pane the rising beams.

In vain on gilded roof they fall,

And lightened up a tapestried wall,

And for her use a menial train

A rich collation spread in vain.

The banquet proud, the chamber gay,

Scarce drew one curious glance astray;

Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say,

With better omen dawned the day

In that lone isle, where waved on high

The dun deer's hide for canopy;

Where oft her noble father shared

The simple meal her care prepared,

While Lufra, crouching by her side,

Her station claimed with jealous pride,

And Douglas, bent on woodland game,

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grrseme,

Whose answer, oft at random made,

The wandering of his thoughts betrayed.—

Those who such simple joys have known

Are taught to prize them when they're gone.

15 ut sudden, see, she lifts her head !

The window seeks with cautious tread.

What distant music has the power

To win her in this woeful hour !

'Twas from a turret that o'er-hung

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

ITag of i\& Imprison^ pmrfsmatt.

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood.
My idle grey-kound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forests green,
With bended bow and blood-hound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.

" I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sun-beams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;

Canto T/.] TIIE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. 299

These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for rue.

" No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eves,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee, —
That life is lost to love and me !"

The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list'ner had not turned her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,.
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.
" 0 welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she sniJ
" How may an almost orphan maid

Pay the deep debt " " 0 say not so !

To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas ! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lead his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come ! — 'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime." —
With beating heart, and bosom rung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and cheer:
Her faltering steps half led, half stayed,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.

Within 'twas brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright;
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And, from their tissue, fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed ;
A few faint steps she forward made.
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed ;
For him she sought, who owned this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate! —

300 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Canto VL

She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court ;
On many a splendid garb she gazed, —
Then turned bewildered and amazed,
For all stood bare; and, in the room,
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent;
On him each courtier's eye was bent ;
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen,
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring, —
And S'nowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King !

As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,

Slides from the rock that gave it rest,

Poor Ellen glided from her stay,

And at the monarch's feet she lay;

No word her choking voice commands, —

She showed the ring, — she clasped her hands,

0 ! not a moment could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look!

Gently he raised her, — and, the while,

Checked with a glance the circle's smile;

Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,

And bade her terrors be dismissed : —

" Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James

The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring;

He will redeem his signet ring.

Ask nought for Douglas;— yester even,

His prince and he have much forgiven :

Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.

We would not to the vulgar crowd

Yield what they craved with clamour loud ;

Calmly we heard and judged his cause,

Our counsel aided, and our laws.

1 stanched thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and grey (ilencairn;
And Bothwell's lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our Throne. —
But, lovely infidel, how now ]

What clouds thy misbelieving brow 1
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ;
Thou must confirm this doubting maid. " —

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The Monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, —
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice !

Canto VI.\ THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 301

Yet would not James the general eye

On nature's raptures Ion:; should pry;

He stepped between — " Nay, Douglas, nay,

Steal not my proselyte away !

The riddle 'tis my right to read,

That brought this happy chance to speed. —

Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray

In life's more low but happier way,

'Tis under name which veils my power,

Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,

And Normans call me James Fitz-James.

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,

Thus learn to right the injured cause." —

Then, in a tone apart and low,

— " Ah, little trait 'ress ! none must know

What idle dream, what lighter thought,

What vanity full dearly bought,

Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew

My spell-bound steps to Benvenue,

In dangerous hour, and all but gave

Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive ! " —

Aloud he spoke — " Thou still dost hold

That litttle talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring —

What seeks fair Ellen of the King ]" —

Full well the conscious maiden guessed,

He probed the weakness of her breast;

But, with that consciousness, there came

A lightning of her fears for Grra?me,

And more she deemed the monarch's ire

Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,

Rebellious broad-sword boldly drew ;

And, to her generous feeling true,

She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. —

" Forbear thy suit : — the King of kings

Alone can stay life's parting wings.

I know his heart, I know his hand,

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand ;-

My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live ! —

Hast thou no Other boon to crave ]

No other captive friend to save]" —

Blushing, she turned her from the King,

And to the Douglas gave the ring,

As if she wished her sire to speak

The suit that stained her glowing cheek. —

" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,

And stubborn justice holds her course.

Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at the word,

Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord,

" For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,

From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,

302 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [Ccmio 11.

Who, nurtured underneath our smile.
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile.
And sought, amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlawed man,
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. —
Fetters and warder for the Grame ! "
His chain of gold the King unstrung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark,

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending,

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ;
Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending,

With distant. echo from the fold and lea,
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp !

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,
And little reck I of the censure sharp

May idly cavil at an idle lay.
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,

Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawned wearier day,

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own.

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string !
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire,

'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.
Receding now, the dying numbers ring

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring

A wandering witch-note of tlfe distant spell —
And now, 'tis silent all ! — Enchantress, fare thee well

VISION OF DOX RODERICK.

"Quid dignum memorarc tuis, Hispania, tenia.
Vox humana valet! "— Claudian.

JOHN WHITMORE, ESQ.

AND

TO THE COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF
THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS.

IN WHICH HE PRESIDES,

ftfeis foem,

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THE1H
MANAGEMENT, IS RESIECTIULLT INSCRIBED.

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION, 1811.

The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, particularly de-
tailed in tlie Notes; but bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last
Gothic King of Spain, when the Invasion of the Moors was impending,
had the temerity to descend into an ancient vault near Toledo, the opening
of which had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish monarchy. Tlio
legend adds, that his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical re-
presentation of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle,
and reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong
the Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present eventful crisis
of the Peninsula; and to divide it, by a supposed change of scene, into
three periods. The first of these represents the Invasion of the Moors,
the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation
of the country by the Victors. The second period embraces the state of
the Peninsula, when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the
East and West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown of their
arms; sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the
inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. The last part
of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled
treachery of Bonaparte ; gives a sketch of the usurpation attempted
upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates with the
arrival of the British succours. It may be further proper to mention, that
ihe object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular inci-
dents,' than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the several
periods brought upon the stage.

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by one who
has already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, to offer any
apology for the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed
to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to mention, that while I was hastily
executing a work, written for a temporary purpose, and on passing events,
the task was most cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord Pre-
sident Blair, and Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished char-
acters, I had not only to regret persons whose lives were most important
to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured my entrance
upon active life; and I may add, with melancholy pride, who permitted
my more advanced age to claim no common share in their friendship.
Under such interruptions, the following verses, which my best and happi-
est efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am mysell
sensible, an appearance of negligence and incoherence, which, in other
circumstances, I might have been able to remove.

Edinburgh, June 24, 1811.

THE

VISION OF DON RODERICK.

INTRODUCTION.

i.

Lives tli^re a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire

May rise distinguished o'er the din of war,
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre,

Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star?
Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range;
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar

All as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet change,
That clangs to Britain, victory, — to Portugual, revenge !

Yes ! such a strain, with all o'erpowering measure,

Might melodize with each tumultuous sound,
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure,

That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around;
The thundering cry of hosts with conquests crowned,

The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan,
The shout of captives from their chains unbound,

The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan,
A Nation's choral hymn for tvranny o'erthrown.

But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day,

Skilled but to imitate an elder page,
Timid and raptureless, can we repay

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age?
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage

Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land,
While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage

A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand —
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band I

20

BOG THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

Ye mountains stern ! within whose rugged breast

The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ;
Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest,

Returning from the field of vanquished foes,
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close,

That erst the choir of bards or Druid's flung,
What time their hymn of victory arose,

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung,
And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung?

Oh ! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain,

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say,
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again,

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ;
If ye can echo such triumphant lay,

Then lend the note to him has loved you long !
Who pious gathered each tradition grey,

That floats your solitary wastes along,
And with affection vain gave them new voice in song.

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task

Of truant verse hath lightened graver care,
From muse or sylvan was he wont to ask,

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair;
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, —

They came unsought for, if applauses came;
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer ;

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame,
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name.

VII.

Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tossed :

" Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre,
Capricious swelling now, may soon be lost,

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire;
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire,

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due :
Age after age has gathered son to sire,

Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew,
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew.

" Decayed our old traditionary lore,

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring,
By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring;
Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing,

That now scarce win a listening ear but thine,
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging,

And rugged deeds recount in rugged line,
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne.

THE VISION OF DOK RODERICK. 307

" No ! search romantic lands, where the near sun

Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame,
Where the rude villager, his labour done,

Inverse spontaneous chants some favoured name;
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim,

Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet;
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme,

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set,
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet.

x.

" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows,
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose;
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane,
From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain.

XI.

" There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark

Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye ;
The stately port, slow step, and visage dark,

Still mark enduring pride and constancy.
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry

Beam not, as once, thy noble's dearest pride,
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side;
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune fought and
died.

" And cherished still by that unchanging race,

Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine;
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,

Legend and visicn, prophecy and sign;
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine

With Gothic imagery of darker shade,
Forming a model meet for minstrel line.

Go, seek such theme ! " — the Mountain Spirit said :
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obeyed.

THE VISION.

i.

Bearing their crests amid the cloudless skies,
And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight.

Toledo's holy towers and spires arise,
As from a trembling lake of silver white :

303 THE VISION OF DOtf RODERICK.

Their mingled shadows intercept the sight
Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below,

And nought disturbs the silence of the night ;
All sleeps in sullen shade or silver glow,
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless ilow.

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide,

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,

To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp.
For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp,

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen,
Which glimmered back, against the moon's fair lamp,

Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen,
And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between.

But of their Monarch's person keeping ward,

Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled,
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard

Their post beneath the proud Cathedral hold :
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, .

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace,
Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold,

While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace,
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place.

In the light language of an idle court,

They murmured at their master's long delay,
And held his lengthened orisons in sport: —

" What ! will Don Roderick here till morning stay,
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away]

And are his hours in such dull penance passed
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay 1 " —

Then to the east their weary eyes they cast,
And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last.

v.
But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent

An ear of fearful wonder to the king;
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent,

So long that sad confession witnessing:
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing,

Such as are lothly uttered to the air,
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom wring,

A nd Guilt his secret burthen cannot bear,
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.

Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair,
The stream of failing light was feebly rolled ;

But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare,
Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold.

TTIE VISION' OF DON RODERICK. 309

While of his hidden soul the sins he told,
Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook,

That mortal man his bearing should behold,
Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook,
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's look.

T-he old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale,

As many a secret sad the king bewrayed ;
And sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,

When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed. —
'' Thus royal Witiza was slain," — he said;

" Yet, holy father, deem not it was I." —
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade —

" 0 rather deem 'twas stern necessity !
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die.

" And, if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air,

If she invoked her absent sire in vain,
And on her knees implored that I would spare,

Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! —
All is not as it seems — the female train

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood : " —
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain,

Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood —
lie stayed his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate stood.

IX.

" 0 hardened offspring of an iron race !

What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say ]
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away !
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray,

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay,

Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host,
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost. "■

x.

Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood,

And to iis brow returned his dauntless gloom ;
"And welcome then," he cried, " be blood for blood,

For treason treachery, for dishonour doom !
Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom.

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key,
And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room,

Where, if aught true in old tradition be,
His nation's future fates a Spanish king shall see."

XI.

" Ill-fated Prince ! recall the desperate word,
Or pause ere yet the Omen thou obey !

Pethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford
Keverto former Monarch entrance-way;

310 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

Nor yhall it ever ope, old records say,

Ss.ve to a king, the last of all his line,
What time his empire totters to decay,

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine,
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine. —

XII.

— " Prelate ! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay !

Lead on ! " — The ponderous key the old man took,
And held the winking lamp, and led the way

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook,
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ;

And, as the key the desperate king essayed,
Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook,

And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made,
Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed.

XIII.

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ;

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone,
Of polished marble, black as funeral pall,

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown.
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone

Through, the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy :
For window to the upper air was none;

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye.

Grim sentinels, against the upper wall,

Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place;
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall,

Their frowning foreheads golden circlets grace.
Moulded they seem for kings of giant race,

That lived and sinned before the avenging flood ;
This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace;

This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood,
Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood.

Fixed was the right-hand Giant's brazen look

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand,
As if its ebb he measured by a book,

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ;
In which was wrote of many a falling land,

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven;
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — ■

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven,
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." —

Even, while they read, the sand-glass wastes away;

And, as the last and lagging grains did creep,
That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway

As one that startles from a heavy sleep.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 311

Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep

At once descended with the force of thunder,
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap,
The marble boundary was rent asunder,
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder.

For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach,

Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid,
Castles and towers, in due proportion each,

As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed :
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade,

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye;
There, rich with vineyard and with olive-glade,

Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high,
Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by.

xvni.
And here, as erst upon the antique stage

Passed forth the bands of masquers trimly led,
In various forms, and various equipage,

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ;
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread,

Successive pageants filled that mystic scene,
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled,

And issue of events that had not been;
And ever and anon strange sounds were heard between.

First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek I —

It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. —

Then answered kettle-drum and atabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,

The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell,
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.

Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell —
" The Moor !" he cried, "the Moor! — rings out the Tocsin bell

" They come ! they come ! I see the groaning lands

White with the turbans of each Arab horde,
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,

Alia and Mahomet their battle-word,
The choice they yield (he Koran or the sword. —

See how the Christians rush to arms amain ! —
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared ;

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain —
Now, God and St. Iago strike, for the good cause of Spa'ji !

" By heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians yield ! —
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign !

The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field —
Is not yon steed Orelia ?— Yes, 'tis mine !

312 THE VISION OF DOS RODERICK.

But never was she turned from battle line;

Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone ! —
Curses pursue the slave and wrath divine !

Rivers engulf him !" — " Hush/' in shuddering tone,
The Prelate said; "rash Prince, yon visioned form's thine

own." —

xxir.
Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course;

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ;
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse

Swept bike benighted peasant down the tide;
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide,

As numerous as their native locust band ;
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide,

With naked scimitars mete out the land,
And for their bondsmen base the freeborn natives brand.

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line;
Then, menials to their misbelieving foes,

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine;
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation'3 sign,

By impious hands was from the altar thrown,
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine

Echoed, for holy hymn and organ tone,
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan.

How fares Don Roderick 1 — E'en as one who spies

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof,
And hears around his children's piercing cries,

And sees the pale assistants stand aloof ;
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof,

His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief ;
And, while above him nods the crumbling roof,.

He curses earth and Heaven — himself in chief —
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief !

That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass,

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings;
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs,

Bazaars resound as when their marts are met,
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings,

And on the land as evening seemed to set,
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret.

So passed that pageant. Ere another came,
The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke,

Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame;
With every flash a bolt explosive broke,

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 313

Till Roderick deemed the fiends bad hurst their yoke,

And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone !
For 'War a new and dreadful language spoke,
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ;
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her lone.

XXVII.

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away —

The Christians have regained their heritage :
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray,

And many a monastery decks the stage,
And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, —
The Genii these of Spain for many an age ;

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright,
And that was Valour named, this Bigotry was bight.

Valour was harnessed like a Chief of old,

Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest :
His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold,

Morena's eagle-plume adorned his crest,
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast.

Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage,
As if of mortal kind to brave the best.

Him followed his Companion, dark and sage,
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.

Haughty of heart and brow the "Warrior came,

In look and language proud as proud might be,
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights and fame,

Yet was that bare-foot Monk more proud than he;
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree,

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound,
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free,

Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renowned,
Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kissed the groutid.

And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless Knight,

Who ne'er t6 King or Kaisar veiled his crest,
Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight,

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest,
Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest;

Nor reasoned of the right nor of the wrong,
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest,

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along,
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong.

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world,
That latest sees the sun, or first the morn;

Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurled, —
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne,

314 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK.

Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn,

Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul;
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn,

Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl
The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowl.

Then did he bless the offering, and bade make

Tribute to heaven of gratitude and praise;
And at his word the choral hymns awake,

And many a hand the silver censer sways.
But with the incense-breath these censers raise,

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire;
The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays,

And shrieks of agony confound the quire,
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire.

XXXIII.

Preluding light, were strains of music heard,

As once again revolved that measured sand;
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared,

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band;
When for the light Bolero ready stand

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met,
He conscious of his broidered cap and band,

She of her netted locks and light corsette,
Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.

And well such strains the opening scene became;

For Valour had relaxed his ardent book,
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame,

Lay stretched, full loth the weight of arms to brook;
And softened Bigotry, upon his book,

Pattered a task of little good or ill:
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook,

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill,
And rung from village green the merry Seguidille,

XXXV.

Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil,

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold,
And careless saw his rule become the spoil

Of a loose Female and her Minion bold;
But peace was on the cottage and the fold,

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far;
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told;

And to the tinkling of the light guitar,
Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star.

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand,
When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen,

Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land,
Awhile, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen,

THE VISION* OF BOX UODE1UCK. 315

While yet the sunbeams on its skirts bad been,
Limning with purple and with g"ld its shroud,

Till darker folds obscured the blue serene,

And blotted Heaven with one broad sable cloud —
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud;—

XXXVII.

Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured,

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band,
And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword,

And offered peaceful front and open hand;
Veiling the perjured treachery he planned,

My friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise,
Until he won the passes of the land;

Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties !_
He clutched his vulture-grasp, and called fair Spain his prize,

XXXVIII.

An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore;

And well such diadem his heart became,
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er,

Or checked his course for piety or shame;
Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame

Might nourish in the wreath of battles won,
Though neither truth nor honour decked his name;

Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne,
Recked not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone.

XXXIX.

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came :

The spark, that, from a superb hovel's hearth
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth —

The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure,
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth,

And by destruction bids its fame endure,
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.

Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form :

Her limbs like mist, her torch-like meteor showed,
With which she beckoned him through fight and storm,

And all he crushed that crossed his desperate road, -
Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trod;

Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake,
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad —

It was Ambition bade his terrors wake,
Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take.

No longer now she spurned at mean revenge,

Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman's moan,

As when, the fates of aged Rome to change,
By Caesar's side she crossed the Rubicon;

316 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won,

As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked,
To war beneath the Youth of Macedon :
No seemly veil her modern minion asked,
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked.

That Prelate marked his march— On banners blazed

With battles won in many a distant land,
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed;

" And hopestthou, then," he said, " thy power shall stand?
0 thou hast builded on the shifting sand,

And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood ;
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand !

Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud,
And, by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood ! " —

The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel,
And paled his temples with the crown of Spain,

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, " Castile ! "
Not that he loved him — No ! — in no man's weal,

Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen heart;
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel,

That the poor puppet might perform his part,
And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start.

But on the Natives of that Land misused,

Not long the silence of amazement hung,
Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused,

For, with a common shriek, the general tongue
Exclaimed, " To arms ! " and fast to arms they sprung ;

And Valour woke, that Genius of the land !
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung,

As burst the awakening Nazarite his band,
W hen 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand.

That mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round,
Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly,

And from his brow the diadem unbound.
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound,

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown,
These martial satellites hard labour found,

To guard awhile his substituted throne — ■
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own.

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung,
And it was echoed from Coruuna's wall;

Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung,
Granada caught it in her Moorish hall;

•SUE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 317

Galicia bade her children fight or fall,

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet,
Valencia roused her at the battle-call,

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met,
Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet.

But unappalled and burning for the fight,

The invaders march, of victory secure;
Skilful their force to sever or unite,

And trained alike to vanquish or endure.
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure,

Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow,
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure;

While nought against them bring the unpractised foe,
Sa^e hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for freedom's

blow.

XLVTII.

Proudly they march — but oh ! they march not forth

By one hot field to crown a brief campaign.
As when their eagles, sweeping through the North,

Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign !
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ;

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied,
Is'ew Patriot armies started from the slain,

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide,
And oft the God of Battles blessed the righteous side.

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail,

Remained their savage waste. With blade and brand,
By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale,

But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land,

And claimed for blood the retribution due,
Frobed the hard heart, and lopped the murderous hand :

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw,
'Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' corpses knew.

What Minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell,

Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea,
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell,

Still honoured in defeat as victory !
For that sad pageant of events to be,

Showed every form of fight by field and flood ;
Slaughter aud Ruin, shouting forth their glee,

Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud,
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with

blood !

LI.

Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue

That names thy name without the honour due )

For never hath the harp of minstrel rung,
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true !

318 THE VISION OJ? DON RODERICK.

Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shattered ruins knew,

Each art of war's extremity had room,
Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew,
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom,
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb.

ML

Yet raise thy head, sad City ! Though in chains,

Enthralled thou canst not be ! Arise and claim
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns,

For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted Dame,
She of the column, honoured be her name,

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love !
And like the sacred relics of the flame,

That gave some martyr to the blessed above,
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove !

LIU.

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair !

Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung,
Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ;
Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung,

Now briefly lightened by the cannon's flare,
Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung,

And reddening now with conflagration's glare,
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare.

While all around was danger, strife, and fear,

While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky,
And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear,

Appalled the heart, and stupified the eye, —
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,

In which old Albion's heart and tongue iinite,
Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats high,

Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight,
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light

Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud —

A varied scene the changeful vision showed,
For where the Ocean mingled with the cloud,

A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad.
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flowed,

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear;
Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed,

And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear,
And the wild beach returned the seaman's jovial cheer.

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!

The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars,
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite,

Legions on legions brightening all the shores.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 319

Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars,
Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum,

Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours,
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb,
Fee, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come !

LVII.

A various host they came — whose ranks display

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight,
The deep battalion locks its firm array,

And meditates his aim the marksman light ;
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright,

Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead,
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night,

Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed,
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed.

A various host— from kindred realms they came,

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown —
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim,

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown.
Hers their hold poit, and hers their martial frown,

And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause,
Their eyes of azure, and their locl^s of brown,

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause,
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with the

Laws.

LIX.

And oh ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land !

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave;
The rugged form may mark the mountain band,

And harsher features, and a mien more grave;
But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid,
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave,

And level for the charge your arms are laid,
Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset stayed !

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,

Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy,
His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings,

And moves to death with military glee:
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free,

In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known,
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she:

And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own.

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown,
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze,

And hear Corunna wail her battle won,

And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze : —

320 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK.

But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ?

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room 1
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays,
That claim a long eternity to bloom
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's tomb !

Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope,

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil
T hat hides futurity from anxious hope,

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail,
And painting Europe rousing at the tale

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled,
While kindling Nations buckle on their mail,

And Fame, with clarion blast and wings unfurled,
To Freedom and revenge awakes an injured World.

LXIII.

0 vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast,

Since Fate has marked futurity her own : —
Yet Fate resigns to Worth the glorious past,

The deeds recorded and the laurels won.
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone,

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,
Melted away like mist- wreaths in the sun,

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain,
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain.

CONCLUSION.

i.

"Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide

Back to the source, when tempest chafed, to hie 1
Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide,

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ?
His magic power let such vain boaster try,

And when the torrent shall his voice obey,
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby,

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way,
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay.

rr.

" Else, ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers,

They close their wings the symbol of our yoke,
And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross Powers V

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock,
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's leader spoke.

While downward on the land his legions press,
Before them it was rich with vine and flock,

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; —
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 821

III.
And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word,

Though Heaven hath heard the waitings of the land,
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword,

Though Britons arm, and Wellington command !
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand

An adamantine barrier to his force !
And from its base shall wheel his shattered band,

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course.

IV.

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk

Hath on his best and bravest made her food,
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall balk

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood :
For full in view the promised conquest stood,

And Lisbon's matrons, from their walla, might sum
The myriads that had half the world subdued,

And hear the distant thunders of the drum,
That bids the band of France to storm and havoc come.

v.

Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled,

Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey,
As famished wolves survey a guarded fold —

But in the middle path, a lion lay !
At length they move — but not to battle-fray,

Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight ;
Beacons of infamy, they light the way,

Where cowardice and cruelty unite,
To dam witb double shame their ignominious flight.

0 triumph for the fiends of Lust and Wrath !

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot,
What wanton horrors marked their wrackful path !

The peasant butchered in his ruined cot,
The hoary priest even at the altar shot,

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame,
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot,

By which inventive demons might proclaim
Immortal hate to Man, and scorn of God's great name !

VII.

The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,

With horror paused to view the havoc done,
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,

Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun.
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son

Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ;
Riches nor poverty the tax snail shun,

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay,
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay.

21

522 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

VIII.
But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Pate,

Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain !
Can vantage-ground no confidence create,

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain ?
Vain-glorious fugitive ! yet turn again !

Behold, where, named by some Prophetic Seer,
Flows Honour's Fountain, as fore-doomed the stain

From thy dishonoured name and arms to clear —
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here !

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid :

Those chief that never heard the Lion roar !
Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed,

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore !
Marshall each band thou hast, and summon more ;

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ;
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour,

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll,
And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his soul.

0 vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore,

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain,
And front the nying thunders as they roar,

With frantic charge, and tenfold odds, in vain !
And what avails thee that, for Camekon slain,

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given —
Vengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein,

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven,
The Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven.

Go, baffled Boaster! teach thy haughty mood

To plead at thine imperious master's throne !
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood,

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own ;
Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown

By British skill and valour were outvied ;
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington !

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried —
God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abide.

But ye, the heroes of that well-fought day,

How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,
His meed to each victorious leader pay,

Or bind on every brow the laurels won 1
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone,

O'er the wide sea to hail Cadooan brave ;
And he, perchance, the minstrel note might own,

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave
'Mid yon far western isles, that hear the Atlantic rave.

TTIE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 323

Yes ! Lard the task, when Britons wield the sword,

To give each Chief and every field its fame :
Hark ! Albuera thundeiB Beresford,

And red Barossa shouts for dauntless Gr.£ME !
0 for a verse of tumult and of flame,

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound,
To bid the world re-echo to their fame !

For never, upon gory battle-ground,
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors

crowned !

XIV.

0 who shall grudge him Albuera's bays,

Who brought a race regenerate to the field,
Roused them to emulate their father's praise,

Tempered their headlong rdge, their courage steeled,
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield.

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword.
And taught her sons forgotten arras to wield —

Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord,
If it forgot thy worth, victorious Beresford !

Not on that bloody field of battle won,

Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist away,
Was half his self-devoted valour shown,—

He gaged but life on that illustrious day;
But when he toiled those squadrons to array.

Who fought like Briton's in the bloody game,
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay,

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame,
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame.

Nor be his praise o'erpassed who strove to hide

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound,
Whose wish, Heaven for his country's weal denied ;

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found.
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets souud,

The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground ;

He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill,
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.

0 hero of a race ienowned of old,

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,
Since first distinguished in the onset bold,

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell 1
By Wallace's side it rung the Southron's knell,

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame,
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell,

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name.
Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of Gr^ehs!

324 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.

But all too long, through seas unknown and dark,

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale),
By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark ;

And landward now I drive before the gale :
And now the blue and distant shore I hail,

And nearer now I see the port expand,
And now I gladly furl my weary sail,

And, as the prow light touches on the strand,
I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to land.

R 0 K E B T.

IN SIX CANTOS.

TO

JOHN B. S. MORRITT ESQ.,

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEATJTLFUX
DEMESNE OP KOKEBT,

IS INSCRIBED,

IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP.

ADVERTISEMENT TO FIRST EDITION, 1813.

The scene of this poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in York-
shire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other
places in that vicinity.

The time occupied by the action is a space of five days, three of which
are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and beginning of the
Sixth Canto.

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great
battle of Marston Moor, 3d July 1644. This period of public confusion
has been chosen, without any purpose of combining the Fable with the
Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a
degree of probability to the Fictitious Narrative now presented to the
Public.

R 0 K E B Y.

CANTO FIRST.

The Moon is in her summer glow,
But hoarse and high the breezes blow,
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud
Varies the tincture of her shroud ;
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream,
She changes as a guilty dream,
When Conscience, with remorse and fear,
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career.
Her light seems now the blush of shame,
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame,
Shifting that shade, to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow;
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness, like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees,
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth,
Sees the clouds mustering in the north,
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall,
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall,
Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle round.

ii.
Those towers, which in the changeful gleam
Throw murky shadows on the stream,
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest,
The emotions of whose troubled breast,
In wild and strange confusion driven,
Rival the flitting rack of heaven.
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied,
Oft had he changed his weary side,
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought
By eti'ort strong to banish thought.

328 EOKEBT. {Canto I

Sleep came at length, but with a train
Of feelings true and fancies vain,
Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
The expected future with the past.
Conscience, anticipating time,
Already rues the unacted crime,
And calls her furies forth, to shake
The sounding scourge and hissing snake ;
While her poor victim's outward throes
Bear witness to his mental woes,
And show what lesson may be read
Beside a sinner's restless bed.

Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace
Strange changes in his sleeping face,
Rapid and ominous as these
With which the moon-beams tinge the Tees.
There might be seen of shame the blush,
There anger's dark and fiercer flush,
While the perturbed sleeper's hand
Seemed grasping dagger-knife, or brand.
Relaxed that grasp, the heavy sigh,
The tear in the half-opening eye,
The pallid cheek and brow, confessed
That grief was busy in his breast;
Nor paused that mood — a sudden start
Impelled the Hfe-blood from the heart ;
Features convulsed, and mutterings dread,
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead.
That pang the painful slumber broke,
And Oswald, with a start, awoke.

He woke, and feared again to close
His eye-lids in such dire repose ;
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell
From hour to hour the castle-bell,
Or listen to the owlet's cry,
Or the sad breeze that whistles by,
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme
With which the warder cheats the time,
And envying think, how, when the sua
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done,
Couched on his straw, and fancy-free,
He sleeps like careless infancy.

Far townward sounds a distant tread,
And Oswald, starting from his bed,
Hath caught it, though no human ear,
Unsharpened by revenge and fear,
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank,
Until it reached the castle-bank.

Canto I.] ROKLBY. 329

Now nigh and plain the sound appears,
The warder's challenge now he hears,
Then clanking chains and levers tell,
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell,
And, in the castle-court below,
Voices are heard, and torches glow,
As marshalling the stranger's way,
Straight for the room where Oswald lay ;
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host,
Of weight — a messenger comes post." —
Stifling the tumult of his breast,
His answer Oswald thus expressed —
" Bring food and wine, and trim the fire;
Admit the stranger, and retire." —

The stranger came with heavy stride,
The morion's plumes his visage hide,
And the buff-coat, in ample fold,
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.
Full slender answer deigned he
To Oswald's anxious courtesy,
But marked, by a disdainful smile,
He saw and scorned the petty wile,
When Oswald changed the torch's place,
Anxious that on the soldier's face
Its partial lustre might be thrown,
To show his looks, yet hide his own.
His guest, the while, laid low aside
The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide,
And to the torch glanced broad and clear
The corslet of a cuirassier;
Then from his brows the casque he drew,
And from the dank plume dashed the dew,
From gloves of mail relieved his hands,
And spread them to the kindling brands,
And, turning to the genial board,
Without a health, or pledge, or word
Of meet and social reverence said,
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ;
As free from ceremony's sway,
As famished wolf that tears his prey.

With deep impatience, tinged with fear,
His host beheld him gorge his cheer.
And quaff the full carouse, that lent
His brow a fiercer hardiment.
Now Oswald stood a space aside,
Now paced the room with hasty stride,
In feverish agony to learn
Tidings of deep and dread concern,
Cursing each moment that his guest
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast.

330 BOKEBT. [Canto L

Yet, viewing with alarm, at last,
The end of that uncouth repast,
Almost he seemed their haste to rue,
As, at his sign, his train withdrew,
And left him with the stranger, free
To question of his mystery.
Then did his silence long proclaim
A struggle between fear and shame.

Much in the stranger's mien appears,
To justify suspicious fears.
On his dark face a scorching clime,
And toil, had done the work of time,
Roughened the brow, the temples bared,
And sable hairs with silver shared,
Yet left — what age alone could tame —
The lip of pride, the eye of flame,
The full-drawn lip that upward curled,
The eye, that seemed to scorn the world.
That lip had terror never blenched ;
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenched
The flash severe of swarthy glow,
That mocked at pain, and knew not woe ;
Inured to danger's direst form,
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm,
Death had he seen by sudden blow,
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,
By mine or breach, by steel or ball,
Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all.

But yet, though Bertram's hardened look,

Unmoved, could blood and danger brook,

Still worse than apathy had place

On his swart brow and callous face ;

For evil passions, cherished long,

Had ploughed them with impressions strong.

All that gives gloss to sin, all gay

Light folly, past with youth away,

But rooted stood, in manhood's hour,

The weeds of vice without their flower.

And yet the soil in which they grew,

Had it been tamed when life was new,

Had depth and vigour to bring forth

The hardier fruits of virtuous worth.

Not that, e'en then, his heart had known

The gentler feelings' kindly tone ;

But lavish waste had been refined

To bounty in his chastened mind,

And lust of gold, that waste to feed,

Been lost in love of glory's meed,

And, frantic then no more, his pride

Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide.

Canto /.] ROKEBT. 331

Even now, by conscience unrestrained,
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained,
Still knew his daring soul to soar,
Aud mastery o'er the mind he bore;
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard,
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard.
And this felt Oswald, while in vain
He strove, by many a winding train,
To lure his sullen guest to show,
Unasked, the news he longed to know,
While on far other subject hung
His heart, than faltered from his tongue.
Yet nought for that his guest did deign
To note or spare his secret pain,
But still, in stern and stubborn sort,
Returned him answer dark and short,
Or started from the theme, to range
In loose digression wild and strange,
And forced the embarrassed host to buy,
By query close, direct reply.

Awhile he glozed upon the cause

Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,

And Church Reformed — but felt rebuke

Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look.

Then stammered — "Has a field been fought?

Has Bertram news of battle brought ?

For sure a soldier, famed so far

In foreign fields for feats of war,

On eve of fight ne'er left the host,

Until the field were won and lost." —

" Here, in your towers by circling Tees,

You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ;

Why deem it strange that others come

To share such safe and easy home,

From fields where danger, death, aud toil,

Are the reward of civil broil? " —

— " Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we know

The near advances of the foe,

To mar our northern army's work,

Encamped before beleaguered York ;

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,

And must have fought — how went the day? " —

" Would'st hear the tale 1— On Marston heath
Met, front to front, the ranks of death ;
Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now
Fired was each eye, and flushed each brow ;
On either side loud clamours ring,
' God aud tho Cause !— God and the King !'

332 ItOKEBY. [Canto I

Right English all, they rushed to blows,

With nought to win, and all to lose.

I could have laughed — but lacked the time —

To see, in phrenesy sublime,

How the fierce zealots fought and bled,

For king or state, as humour led ;

Some for a dream of public good,

Some for church-tippet, gown, and hood,

Draining their veins, in death to claim

A patriot's or a martyr's name. —

Led Bertram Eisingham the hearts,

That countered there on adverse parts,

No superstitious fool had I

Sought El Doradoes in the sky !

Chili had heard me through her states,

And Lima oped her silver gates,

Rich Mexico I had marched through,

And sacked the splendours of Peru,

Till sunk Pizarro's daring name,

And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." —

■ — " Still from the purpose wilt thou stray !

Good gentle friend, how went the day ] " —

" Good am I deemed at trumpet-sound,

And good where goblets dance the round,

Though gentle ne'er was joined, till now,

With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. —

But I resume. The battle's rage

Was like the strife which currents wage,

Where Orinoco, in his pride.

Rolls to the main no tribute tide,

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far

A rival sea of roaring war ;

While, in ten thousand eddies driven,

The billows fling their foam to heaven,

And the pale pilot seeks in vain,

Where rolls the river, where the main.

Even thus, upon the bloody field,

The eddying tides of conflict wheeled

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame,

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came,

Hurling against our spears a line

Of gallants, fiery as their wine ;

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal,

In zeal's despite began to reel.

What wouldst thou more 1 — in tumult tost,

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost.

A thousand men, who drew the sword

For both the Houses and the Word,

Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down,

To curb the crosier and the crown,

Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in gore,

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. —

Canto /.] ROKEBY. 333

Thus fared it, when I left the fight,

With the good Cause and Commons' right." —

" Disastrous news ! " dark Wyeliffe said ;
Assumed despondence bent his head,
While troubled joy was in his eye,
The well-feigned sorrow to belie. —
"Disastrous news ! — when needed most,
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ]
Complete the woeful tale, and say,
Who fell upon that fatal day;
What leaders of repute and name
Bought by their death a deatLless fame.
If such my direst foeman's doom,
My tears shall dew his honoured tomb.—
No answer ? — Friend, of all our host,
Thou know'st whom I should hate the most ;
Whom thou too, once, were wont to hate,
Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate." —
With look unmoved, — " Of friend or foe,
Aught," answered Bertram, " wouldst thou

know,
Demand in simple terms and plain,
A soldier "s answer shalt thou gain ;
For question dark, or riddle high,
I have nor judgment nor reply." —

The wrath his art and fear suppressed,

Now blazed at once in Wyclifte's breast ;

And brave, from man so meanly born,

Roused his hereditary scorn.

— " Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ]

Philip of Mortham, lives he yet ?

False to thy patron or thine oath,

Trait'rous or perjured, one or both,

Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight,

To slay thy leader in the fight ? " —

Then from hi3 seat the soldier sprung.

And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ;

His grasp, as hard as glove of mail,

Forced the red blood-drop from the nail—

" A health ! " he cried ; and, ere he quaffod,

Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laughed :

— " Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart !

Now play'st thou well thy genuine part !

Worthy, but for thy craven fear,

Like me to roam a buccaneer.

What reck'st thou of the Cause divine,

If Morthain's wealth and lands be thine 1

What carest thou for beleaguered York,

If this good hand have done its work]

Or what, though Fairfax and his best

Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast,

334 KOKEBT. [Canto!.

If Philip Mortham with them lie,
Lending his life-blood to the dye 1 —
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free
Carousing after victory,
When tales are told of blood and fear,
That boys and women shrink to hear,
From point to point I frankly tell
The deed of death as it befell.

" When purposed vengeance I forego,

Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ;

And when an insult I forgive,

Then brand me as a slave, and live 1 —

Philip of Mortham is with those

Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ;

Or whom more sure revenge attends,

If numbered with ungrateful friends.

As was his wont, ere battle glowed,

Along the marshalled ranks he rode,

And wore his vizor up the while.

I saw his melancholy smile,

When, full opposed in front, he knew

Where Rokkby's kindred banner flew.

" And thus," he said, " will friends divide ! '

I heard, and thought how, side by side,

We two had turned the battle's tide,

In many a well-debated field,

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield.

I thought on Darien's deserts pale,

Where death bestrides the evening gale,

How o'er my friend my cloak I threw,

And fenceless faced the deadly dew ;

I thought on Quariana's cliff,

Where, rescued from our foundering skiff,

Through the white breakers' wrath I bore

Exhausted Mortham to the shore ;

And when his side an arrow found,

I sucked the Indian's venomed wound.

These thoughts like torrents rushed along,

To sweep away my purpose strong.

" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ;
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent.
When Mortham bade me, as of yore,
Be near him in the battle's roar,
I scarcely saw the spears laid low,
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ;
Lost was the war in inward strife,
Debating Mortham 's death or life.
'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come,
As partner of his wealth and home,
Years of piratic wandering o'er,
With him I sought our native shore.

Canto I.]

335

But Mortham's lord grew far estranged

From the bold heart with whom he ranged ;

Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears,

Saddened and dimmed descending years ;

The wily priests their victim sought,

And damned each free-born deed and thought.

Then must I seek another home,

My licence shook his sober dome ;

If gold he gave, in one wild day

I revelled thrice the sum away.

An idle outcast then I strayed,

Unfit for tillage or for trade,

Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance,

Useless and dangerous at once.

The women feared my hardy look,

At my approach the peaceful shook ;

The merchant saw my glance of flame,

And locked his hoards when Bertram came ;

Each child of coward peace kept far

From the neglected son of war.

" But civil discord gave the call,
And made my trade the trade of all.
By Mortham urged, I came again
His vassals to the fight to train.
What guerdon waited on my care 1
I could not cant of creed or prayer ;
Sour fanatics each trust obtained,
And I, dishonoured and disdained,
Gained but the high and happy lot,
In these poor arms to front the shot ! —
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ;
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well.
'Tis honour bids me now relate
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate.

" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part,
Glance quick as lightning through the heart.
As my spur pressed my courser's side,
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried,
And, ere the charging squadrons mixed,
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed.
I watched him through the doubtful fray,
That changed as March's moody day,
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank,
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank.
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife,
Where each man fought for death or life,
'Twas then I fired my petronel,
And Morthaiu, steed and rider, fell.
One dying look he upward cast,
Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last.

336 ROKEBT. [Canto I

Think not that there I stopped to view
What of the battle should ensue ;
But ere I cleared that bloody press,
Our northern horse ran masterless ;
Monckton and Mitton told the news,
How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse,
And many a bonny Scot, aghast,
Spurring his palfrey northward, passed,
Cursing the day when zeal or meed
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale,
Had rumour learned another tale ;
With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day;
But whether false the news, or true,
Oswald, I reck as light as you." —

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown,
How his pride startled at the tone
In which his complice, fierce and free,
Asserted guilt's equality.
In smoothest terms his speech he wove,
Of endless friendship, faith, and love ;
Promised and vowed in courteous sort,
But Bertram broke professions short.
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay,
No, scarcely till the rising day ;
Warned by the legends of my youth,
I trust not an associate's truth.
Do not my native dales prolong
Of Percy Rede the tragic song,
Trained forward to his bloody fall,
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall 1
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side,
The shepherd sees his spectre glide.
And near the spot that gave me name,
The moated mound of Risingham,
Where Reed upon her margin sees
Sweet Woodburn's cottages and trees,
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown
An outlaw's image on the stone ;
Unmatched in strength, a giant he,
With quivered back, and kirtled knee.
Ask how he died, that hunter bold,
That tameless monarch of the wold,
And age and infancy can tell,
By brother's treachery he fell.
Thus warned by legends of my youth,
I trust to no associate's truth.

" When last we reasoned of this deed,
Nought, I bethink me, was agreed,

Canto I.] ROKEBT. 337

Or by what rule, or when, or where,
The wealth of Mortham we should share ;
Then list, while I the portion name,
Our differing laws give each to claim.
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne,
Her rules of heritage must own ;
They deal thee, as to nearest heir,
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair,
And these I yield : — do thou revere
The statutes of the Buccaneer.
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn
To all that on her waves are borne,
When falls a mate in battle broil,
His comrade heirs his portioned spoil ;
When dies in fight a daring foe,
He claims his wealth who struck the blow ;
And either rule to me assigns
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines,
Hoarded in Mortham 's caverns dark ;
Ingot of gold and diamond spark,
Chalice and plate from churches borne,
And gems from shrieking beauty torn,
Each string of pearl, each silver bar,
And all the wealth of western war.
I go to search, where, dark and deep,
Those transatlantic treasures sleep.
Thou must along — for, lacking thee,
The heir will scarce find entrance free;
And then farewell. I haste to try
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ;
When cloyed each wish, these wars afford
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." —

XXII.

An undecided answer hung

On Oswald's hesitating tongue.

Despite his craft, he heard with awe

This ruffian stabber fix the law ;

While his own troubled passions veer

Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear : —

Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies,

He grudged the murderer's mighty prize,

Hated his pride's presumptuous tone,

And feared to wend with him alone.

At length, that middle course to steer,

To cowardice and craft so dear,

" His charge," he said, " would ill allow

His absence from the fortress now ;

Wilfrid on Bertram should attend,

His son should journey with his friend." —

XXIII.

Contempt kept Bertram's anger down,
And wreathed to savage smile his frown.
" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me,
Whichever bears the golden key.
22

333 ROKEBY. [Canto I

Yet think not but I mark, and smile

To mark, thy poor and selfish wile !

If injury from me you fear,

What, Oswald WyclifFe, shields thee here ?

I've sprung from walls more high than these,

I've swam through deeper streams than Tees.

Might I not stab thee, ere one yell

Could rouse the distant sentinel ]

Start not — it is- not my design,

But, if it were, weak fence were thine ;

And, trust me, that, in time of need,

This hand hath done more desperate deed.

Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ;

Time calls, and I must needs be gone." —

XXIV.

Nought of his sire's ungenerous part
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart;
A heart too soft from early life
To hold with fortune needful strife.
His sire, while yet a hardier race
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace,
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand,
For feeble heart and forceless hand ;
But a fond mother's care and joy
Were centred in her sickly boy.
No touch of childhood's frolic mood
Showed the elastic spring of blood ;
Hour after hour he loved to pore
On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore,
But turned from martial scenes and light,
From FalstafFs feast and Percy's fight,
To ponder Jaques' moral strain,
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ;
And weep himself to soft repose
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes.

XXV.

In youth he sought not pleasures found
By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound,
But loved the quiet joys that wake
By lonely stream and silent lake ;
In Deepdale's solitude to lie,
Where all is cliff, and copse, and sky ;
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak,
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek.
Such was his wont ; and there his dream
Soared on some wild fantastic theme,
Of faithful love, or ceaseless Spring,
Till Contemplation's wearied wing
The enthusiast could no more sustain,
And sad he sunk to earth again.

XXVI.

He loved — as many a lay can tell,
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ;

Canto /.] ROKEBY. 339

For his was minstrel's skill, lie caught
The art unteachable, untaught ;
He loved — his soul did nature frame
For love, and fancy nursed the flame ;
Vainly he loved — for seldom swain
Of such soft mould is loved again ;
Silent he loved — in every gaze
"Was passion, friendship in his phrase.
So mused his life away — till died
His brethren all, their father's pride.
Wilfrid is now the only heir
Of all his stratagems and care,
And destined, darkling, to pursue
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue.

XXVII.

"Wilfrid must love and woo the bright
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight.
To love her was an easy hest,
The secret empress of his breast ;
To woo her was a harder task
To one that durst not hope or ask ;
Yet all Matilda could, she gave
In pity to her gentle slave ;
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard,
And praise, the poet's best reward !
She read the tales his taste approved,
And sung the lays he framed or loved ;
Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame
Of hopeless love in friendship's name,
In kind caprice she oft withdrew
The favouring glance to friendship due,
Then grieved to see her victim's pain,
And gave the dangerous smiles again.

XXVIIL

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand,
When war's loud summons waked the land.
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees,
The woe-foreboding peasant sees ;
In concert oft they braved of old
The bordering Scot's incursion bold ;
Frowning defiance in their pride,
Their vassals now and lords divide.
From his fair hall on Greta banks, •
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks,
To aid the valiant northern Earls,
Who drew the sword for royal Charles ;
Mortham, by marriage near allied, —
His sister had been Rokeby's bride,
Though long before the civil fray,
In peaceful grave the lady lay, —
Philip of Mortham raised his band,
And marched at Fairfax's command ;
' While Wycliffe, bound~by many a train
Of kindred art with wily Vane,

340 ROKEBY. \Canto I.

Less prompt to brave the bloody field,
Made Barnard's battlements his shield,
Secured them with his Lunedale powers,
And for the Commons held the towers.

The lovely heir of Rokeby's Eniglit
Waits in his halls the event of fight ;
For England's war revered the claim
Of every unprotected name,
And spared, amid its fiercest rage,
Childhood and womanhood and age.
But Wilfrid, son to ftokeby's foe,
Must the dear privilege forego,
By Greta's side, in evening grey,
To steal upon Matilda's way,
Striving, with fond hypocrisy,
For careless step and vacant eye ;
Calming each anxious look and glance,
To give the meeting all to chance,
Or framing as a fair excuse,
The book, the pencil, or the muse;
Something to give, to sing, to say,
Some modern tale, some ancient lay.
Then, while the longed-for minutes last,
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past ! —
Recording each expression free,
Of kind or careless courtesy,
Each friendly look, each softer tone,
As food for fancy when alone.
All this is o'er — but still, unseen,
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green,
To watch Matilda's wonted round,
While springs his heart at every sound.
She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight,
Yet serves to cheat his weary night;
She comes not — He will wait the hour,
When her lamp lightens in the tower;
'Tis something yet, if, as she passed,
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast.
" What is my life, my hope V he said;
" Alas! a transitory shade." —

Thus wore his life, though reason strove
For mastery in vain with love,
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum
Of present woe and ills to come,
While still he turned impatient ear
From Truth's intrusive voice severe.
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued,
In all but this, unmoved he viewed
Each outward change of ill and good:
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild,
Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward child;

Canto l]

341

In her bright car she bade him ride,
With one fair form to grace his side,
Or, in some wild and lone retreat,
Flung her high spells around his seat,
Bathed in her dews his languid head,
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread,
For him her opiates gave to flow,
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego,
And placed him in her circle, free
From every stern reality,
Till, to the Visionary, seem
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream.

Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason's hand the reins,
Pity and woe I for such a mind
Is soft, contemplative, and kind;
And woe to those who train such youth,
And spare to press the rights of truth,
The mind to strengthen and anneal,
While on the stithy glows the steel !
0 teach him, while your lessons last,
To judge the present by the past;
Remind him of each wish pursued,
How rich it glowed with promised good;
Remind him of each wish enjoyed,
How soon his hopes possession cloyed i
Tell him, we play unequal game,
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim;
And, ere he stript him for her race,
Show the conditions of the chase.
Two Sisters by the goal are set,
Cold Disappointment and Regret;
One disenchants the winner's eyes,
And strips of all its worth the prize,
While one augments its gaudy show,
More to enhance the loser's woe.
The victor sees his fairy gold,
Transformed, when won, to drossy mold,
But still the vanquished mourns his loss,
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross.

More would 'st thou know — yon tower survey,
Yon couch unpressed since parting day,
Yon untrimined lamp, whose yellow gleam
Is mingling with the cold moon-beam,
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red
On his pale cheek unequal spread;
The head reclined, the loosened hair,
The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. —
See, he looks up; — a woeful smile
Lightens his woe-worn cheek a while, —

342 ROKEBT. [Canto 1.

'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought,
To gild the ruin she has wrought;
For, like the bat of Indian brakes,
Her pinions fan the wound she makes,
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain,
She drinks his life-blood from the vein.
Now to the lattice turn his eyes,
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise.
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast,
Still howls by fits the stormy blast;
Another hour must wear away,
Ere the East kindle into day,
And hark ! to waste that weary hour,
He tries the minstrel's magic power.

TO THE MOON.

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam,

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky !
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye !
How should thy pure and peaceful eye

Untroubled view our scenes below,
Or how a tearless beam supply

To light a world of war and woe !

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now,

As once by Greta's fairy side;
Each little cloud that dimned thy brow

Did then an angel's beauty hide.
And of the shades I then could chide,

Still are the thoughts to memory dear,
For, while a softer strain I tried,

They hid my blush, and calmed my fear.

Then did I swear thy ray serene

Was formed to light some lonely dell,
By two fond lovers only seen,

Reflected from the crystal well,
Or sleeping on their mossy cell,

Or quivering on the lattice bright,
Or glancing on their couch, to tell

How swiftly wanes the summer night!

He starts — a step at this lone hour !
A voice ! — his father seeks the tower,
With haggard look and troubled sense,
Fresh from his dreadful conference.
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep addressed?
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest.
Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor;
Bertram brings warrant to secure

Canto II] ROKEBY. 343

His treasures, bought by spoil and blood,
For the state's use and public good.
The menials will thy voice obey;
Let his commission have its way,
In every point, in every word." —
Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword 1
Bertram is— what I must not tell.
I hear his hasty step — farewell !"

CANTO SECOND.

Far in the chambers of the west,
The gale bad sighed itself to rest;
The moon was cloudless now and clear,
But pale, and soon to disappear.
The thin grey clouds wax dimly light
On Brusleton and Houghton height;
And the rich dale, that eastward lay,
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give its woods and cultured plain,
And towers and spires, to light again.
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell,
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,
Emerge proud Barnard's bannered walls.
High crowned he sits, in dawning pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.

What prospects, from his watch-tower high,
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! —
Far sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,
And tracks his wanderings by the steam
Of summer vapours from the stream ;
And ere he pace hi3 destined hour
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,
These silver mists shall melt away,
And dew the woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad lustre shall be shown
That mighty trench of living stone,
And each huge trunk that, from the side,
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide,
Where Tees, full many a fathom low,
Wears with his rage no common foe;
For pebbly-bank, nor sand-bed here,
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career,
Condemned to mine a channelled way,
O'er solid sheets of marble grey.

344 ROK.EBY. [Canto If.

Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright,

Shall rush upon the ravished sight;

But many a tributary stream

Each from its own dark dell shall gleam :

Staihdrop, who, from her sylvan bowers,

Salutes proud Raby's battled towers;

The rural brook of Eglistone,

And Balder, named from Odin's son;

And Greta, to whose banks ere long

We lead the lovers of the song;

And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild,

And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child,

And last and least, but loveliest still,

Romantic Deepdale's slender rill.

Who in that dim-wood glen hath strayed,

Yet longed for Roslin's magic glade 1

Who, wandering there, hath sought to change

Even for that vale so stern and strange,

Where Cartland's crags, fantastic rent,

Through her green copse like spires are sent

Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine,

Thy scenes and story to combine !

Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays,

List to the deeds of other days;

'Mid Cartland crags thou show'st the cave,

The refuge of thy champion brave;

Giving each rock its storied tale,

Pouring a lay for every dale,

Knitting, as with a moral band,

Thy native legends with thy land,

To lend each scene the interest high

Which genius beams from Beauty's eye.

Bertram awaited not the sight

Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height,

But from the towers, preventing day,

With Wilfrid took his early way,

While misty dawn, and moon-beam pale,

Still mingled in the silent dale.

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone,

The southern bank of Tees they won ;

Their winding path then eastward cast,

And Eglistone's grey ruins passed ;

Each on his own deep visions bent,

Silent and sad they onward went.

Well may you think that Bertram's mood

To Wilfrid savage seemed and rude ;

Well may you think bold Risingham

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ;

And small the intercourse, I ween,

Such uncongenial souls between,

Canto //.] HOKEBY. 346

Stern Bertram shunned the nearer way,
Through Kokeby's park and chase that lay,
And, skirting high the valley's ridge,
They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge,
Descending where her waters wind
Free for a space and unconfined,
As, 'scaped from Brignal's dark wood glen,
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den.
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound,
Raised by that Legion long renowned.
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim,
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame,
" Stern sons of war ! " sad Wilfrid sighed,
" Behold the boast of Roman pride !
What now of all your toils are known ?
A grassy trench, a broken stone ! "
This to himself ; for moral strain
To Bertram were addressed in vain.

Of different mood, a deeper sigh
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high
Were northward in the dawning seen
To rear them o'er the thicket green.
0 then, though Spenser's self had strayed
Beside him through the lovely glade,
Lending his rich luxuriant glow
Of fancy, all its charms to show,
Pointing the stream rejoicing free,
As captive set at liberty,
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad,
And clamouring joyful on her road ;
Pointing where, up the sunny banks,
The trees retire in scattered ranks,
Save where, advanced before the rest,
On knoll or hillock rears his crest,
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak,
As champions, when their band is broke,
Stand forth to guard the rearward post,
The bulwark of the scattered host —
All this, and more, might Spenser say,
Yet waste in vain his magic lay,
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower,
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower.

The open vale is soon past o'er,
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ;
Sinking 'mid Oreta's thickets deep,
A wild and darker course they keep,
A stern and lone, yet lovely road,
As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode I

346 ROKEBY. [Canto II.

Broad shadows o'er their passage fell,

Deeper and narrower grew the dell ;

It seemed some mountain, rent and riven,

A channel for the stream had given,

So high the cliffs of limestone grey

Hung, beetling o'er the torrent's way,

Yielding, along their rugged base,

A flinty footpath's niggard space,

Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and ware,

May hear the headlong torrent rave,

And like a steed in frantic fit,

That flings the froth from curb and bit,

May view her chafe her waves to spray,

O'er every rock that bars her way,

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride,

Thick as the schemes of human pride,

That down life's current drive amain,

As frail, as frothy, and as vain !

The cliffs, that rear the haughty head
High o'er the river's darksome bed,
Were now all naked, wild, and grey,
Now waving all with greenwood spray ;
Here trees to every crevice clung,
And o'er the dell their branches hung ;
And there, all splintered and uneven,
The shivered rocks ascend to heaven ;
Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,
And wreathed its garland round their crest,
Or from the spires bade looselj flare
Its tendrils in the middle air.
As pennons wont to wave of old
O'er the high feast of Baron bold,
When revelled loud the feudal rout,
And the arched halls returned their shout,
Such and more wild is Greta's roar,
And such the echoes from her shore,
And so the ivied banners gleam,
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream.

Now from the stream the rocks recede,

But leave between no sunny mead,

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand,

Oft found by such a mountain strand,

Forming such warm and dry retreat,

As fancy deems the lonely seat,

Where hermit, wandering from his cell,

His rosary might love to tell.

But here, 'twixt rock and river grew

A dismal grove of sable yew,

With whose sad tints were mingled seen

The blighted fir's sepulchral green.

Canto II.]

ROKEBT. £47

Seemed that the trees their shadows cast

The earth that nourished them to blast,

For never knew that swarthy grove

The verdant hue that fairies love ;

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower,

Arose within its baleful bower ;

The dank and sable earth receives

Its only carpet from the leaves,

That, from the withering branches cast,

Bestrewed the ground with every blast.

Though now the sun was o'er the hill,

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still,

Save that on Greta's further side

Some straggling beams through copse-wood glide.

And wild and savage contrast made

That dingle's deep and funeral shade,

With the bright tints of early day,

Which, glimmering through the ivy spray,

On the opposing summit lay.

x.

The lated peasant shunned the dell,

For Superstition wont to tell _

Of many a grisly sound and sight,

Scaring its path at dead of night.

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide,

Such wonders speed the festal tide,

While Curiosity and Fear,

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near,

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows,

And village maidens lose the rose.

The thrilling interest rises higher,

The circle closes nigh and nigher,

And shuddering glance is cast behind,

As louder moans the wintry wind.

Believe, that fitting scene was laid

For such wild tales in Mortham glade ;

For who had seen on Greta's side,

By that dim light, fierce Bertram stride,

In such a spot, at such an hour, —

If touched by Superstition's power,

Might well have deemed that Hell had given

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven,

While Wilfrid's form had seemed to glide

Like his pale victim by his side.

XI.

Nor think to village swains alone
Are these unearthly terrors known ;
For not to rank nor sex confined
Is this vain ague of the mind.
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard,
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barred,
Have quaked like aspen leaves in May,
Beneath its universal sway.

348 ROKEBY. [Cento IL

Bertram had listed many a tale
Of wonder in his native dale,
That in his secret soul retained
The credence they in childhood gained ;
Nor less his wild adventurous youth
Believed in every legend's truth,
Learned when beneath the tropic gale
Full swelled the vessel's steady sail,
And the broad Indian moon her light
Poured on the watch of middle night,
When seamen love to hear and tell
Of portent, prodigy, and spell :
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,
How whistle rash bids tempests roar,
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite,
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ;
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form
Shoots like a meteor through the storm,
When the dark scud comes driving hard,
And lowered is every top-sail-yard,
And canvas, wove in earthly looms,
No more to brave the storm presumes !
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky,
Top and top-gallant hoisted high,
Full-spread and crowded every sail,
The Daemon-frigate braves the gale ;
And well the doomed spectators know
The harbinger of wreck and woe.

Then too were told, in stifled tone,
Marvels and omens all their own ;
How, by some desert isle or key,
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty,
Or where the savage pirate's mood
Repaid it home in deeds of blood,
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear
Appalled the listening buccaneer,
Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay
In ambush by the lonely bay.
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain,
Ring from the moon-light groves of cane ;
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare,
Who wearies memory for a prayer,
Curses the road-stead, and with gale
Of early morning lifts the sail,
To give, in thirst of blood and prey,
A legend for another bay.

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child,
Trained in the mystic and the wild,
With this on Bertram's soul at times
Rushed a dark feeling of his crimes ;

Canto II.] ROKEDT. 349

Such to his troubled sou] their form,

As the pale Death-ship to the storm,

And such their omen dim and dread,

As shrieks and voices of the dead.

That pang, whose transitory force

Hovered 'twixt horror and remorse ;

That pang, perchance, his bosom pressed,

As Wilfrid sudden he addressed.

" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod

Until the sun rides high abroad,

Yet twice have I beheld to-day

A form that seemed to dog our way :

Twice from my glance it seemed to flee,

And shroud itself by cliff or tree.

How think'st thou i— is our path way-laid,

Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed ]

If so" — Ere, starting from his dream,

That turned upon a gentler theme,

Wilfrid had roused him to reply,

Bertram sprung forward, shouting high,

" Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand ! "

And forth he darted, sword in hand.

As bursts the levin in its wrath,

He shot him down the sounding patli ;

Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out,

To his loud step and savage shout.

Seems that the object of his race

Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic chase

Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent

Right up the rock's tall battlement ;

Straining each sinew to ascend,

Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend.

Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay,

Views from beneath his dreadful way;

Now to the oak's warped roots he clings,

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings;

Now, like the wild goat, must he dare

An unsupported leap in air;

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now,

You mark him by the crashing bough,

And by his corslet's sullen clank,

And by the stones spurned from the bank,

And by the hawk scared from her nest,

And ravens croaking o'er their guest,

Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay

The tribute of his bold essay.

See, he emerges ! — desperate now

All further course — yon beetling brow,

In craggy nakedness sublime,

What heart or foot shall dare to climb ]

350 EOKEBY. [Canto 11

It bears no tendril for his clasp,
Presents no angle to his grasp;
Sole stay his foot may rest upon,
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone.
Balanced on such precarious prop,
He strains his grasp to reach the top.
Just as the dangerous stretch he makes,
By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes !
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends,
It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends !
And downward holds its headlong way,
Crashing o'er rock and copse- wood spray.
Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! —
Fell it alone 1— alone it fell.
Just on the very verge of fate,
The hardy Bertram's falling weight
He trusted to his sinewy hands,
And on the top unharmed he stands !

Wilfrid a safer path pursued,
At intervals where, roughly hewed,
Rude steps ascending from the dell
Rendered the cliffs accessible.
By circuit slow he thus attained
The height that Risingham had gained,
And when he issued from the wood,
Before the gate of Mortham stood.
'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay
On battled tower and portal grey,
And from the grassy slope he sees
The Greta flow to meet the Tees,
Where, issuing from her darksome bed,
She caught the morning's eastern red,
And through the softening vale below
Rolled her bright waves in rosy glow,
All blushing to her bi-idal bed,
Like some shy maid in convent bred,
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay,
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay.

'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay,
That summer morn shone blithe and gay;
But morning beam, and wild bird's call,
Awaked not Mortham's silent hall.
No porter, by the low-browed gate,
Took in the wonted niche his seat ;
To the paved court no peasant drew,
Waked to their toil no menial crew;
The maiden's carol was not heard,
As to her morning task she fared ;
In the void offices around,
Rung not a hoof, nor bayed a hound ;
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh,

Canto II.-] ROKEBT. 351

Accused the lagging groom's delay;
Untrimmed, undressed, neglected now,
Was alleyed walk and orchard bough ;
All spoke the master's absent care,
All spoke neglect and disrepair.
South of the gate an arrow-flight,
Two mighty elms their limbs unite,
As if a canopy to spread
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ;
For their huge boughs in arches bent
Above a massive monument,
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise,
With many a scutcheon and device:
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom,
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb.

XYIII.

" It vanished, like a flitting ghost !
Behind this tomb," he said, " 'twas lost —
This tomb, where oft I deemed, lies stored
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard.
'Tis true, the aged servants said
Here his lamented wife is laid;
But weightier reasons may be guessed
For their lord's strict and stern behest,
That none should on his steps intrude,
When'er he sought this solitude. —
An ancient mariner I knew,
What time I sailed with Morgan's crew,
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake
Of Kaleigh, Forbisher, and Drake;
Adventurous hearts ! who bartered bold
Their English steel for Spanish gold.
Trust not, would his experience say,
Captain or comrade with your prey;
But seek some charnel, when, at full,
The moon gilds skeleton and skull.
There dig and tomb your precious heap,
And bid the dead your treasure keep ;
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell
Their service to the task compel.
Lacks their such charnel]— kill a slave,
Or prisoner, on the treasure grave;
And bid his discontented ghost
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. —
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween,
Is in my morning vision seen." —

XIX.

Wilfrid, who scorned the legend wild,
In mingled mirth and pity smiled,
Much marvelling that a breast so bold
In such fond tale belief should hold ;
But yet of Bertram sought to know
The apparition's form and show. —

352 ROKEBT. [Canto 11

The power within the guilty breast,

Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed,

That unsubdued and lurking lies

To take the felon by surprise,

And force him, as by magic spell,

In his despite his guilt to tell, —

That power in Bertram's breast awoke;

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke;

" 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head !

His morion with the plume of red,

His shape, his mien— 'twas Mortham right,

As when I slew him in the fight." —

— " Thou slay him 1 — thou ]"— With conscious start

He heard, then manned his haughty heart. —

— "I slew him] — I ! — I had forgot,

Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot.

But it is spoken — nor will I

Deed done, or spoken word, deny.

I slew him; I ! for thankless pride;

'Twas by this hand that Mortham died." —

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart,

Averse to every active part,

But most averse to martial broil,

Prom danger shrunk, and turned from toil;

Yet the meek lover of the lyre

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire;

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong,

His blood beat high, his hand waxed strong.

Not his the nerves that could sustain,

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain;

But, when that spark blazed forth to flame,

He rose superior to his frame.

And now it came, that generous mood ;

And, in full current of his blood,

On Bertram he laid desperate hand,

Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand.

" Should every fiend to whom thou'rt sold,

Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. —

Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword !

Attach the murderer of your Lord ! "

A moment, fixed as by a spell,

Stood Bertram — it seemed miracle,

That one so feeble, soft, and tame,

Set grasp on warlike Risingbam.

But when he felt a feeble stroke,

The fiend within the ruffian woke !

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand,

To dash him headlong on the sand,

Was but one moment's work, — one more

Had drenched the blade in Wilfrid's gore;

Canto //.] ROKEBY. 333

But, in the instant it arose,
To end his life, his love, his woes,
A warlike Form, that marked the scene.
Presents his rapier sheathed between,
Parries the fast-descending blow,
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe;
Nor then unscabbarded bis brand,
But, sternly pointing with his hand,
With monarch's voice forbade the fight,
And motioned Bertram from his sight.
" Go, and repent," — he said, " while time
Is given thee; add not crime to crime." —

Mute and uncertain and amazed,

As on a vision Bertram gazed !

'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high,

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye,

His look and accent of command,

The martial gesture of his hand,

His stately form, spare-built and tall,

His war-bleached locks — 'twas Mortham all.

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear;

His wavering faith received not quite

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite,

But more he feared it, if it stood

His lord, in living flesh and blood —

What spectre can the charnel send,

So dreadful as an injured friend'?

Then, too, the habit of command,

Used by the leader of the band,

When Piisingham, for many a day,

Had marched and fought beneath his sway,

Tamed him — and, with reverted face,

Backwards he bore his sullen pace,

Oft stooped, and oft on Mortham stared,

And dark as rated mastiff glared ;

But when the tramp of steeds was heard,

Plunged in the glen, and disappeared.

Nor longer there the Warrior stood,

Retiring eastward through the wood ;

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, '

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." —

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear,

Hinting he knew not what of fear,'

When nearer came the coursers' tread,

And, with his father at their head,

Of horsemen armed a gallant power

Reined up their steeds before the tower.

" Whence these pale looks, my son ]" he said :

" Where's Bertram? why that naked blade]" —

23

354 BOKEBT. [Canto II.

Wilfred ambiguously replied,

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied)

" Bertram is gone— the villain's word

Avouched him murderer of his lord !

Even now we fought — but, when your tread

Announced you nigh, the felon fled. " —

In.Wycliffe's conscious eye appear

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ;

On his pale brow the dew-drop broke,

And his lip quivered as he spoke.

" A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died
Amid the battle's wildest tide.
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you !
Yet grant such strange confession true,
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far —
Justice must sleep in civil war." —
A gallant youth rode near his side,
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried;
That morn, an embassy of weight
He brought to Barnard's castle gate,
And followed now in Wycliffe's train,
An answer for his lord to gain.
His steed, whose ai-ched and sable neck
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck,
Chafed not against the curb more high
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ;
He bit his lip, implored his saint,
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint.

" Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall,
By that base traitor's dastard ball,
Just when I thought to measure sword,
Presumptous hope ! with Mortham's lord.
And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew
His leader generous, brave, and true 1
Escape ! while on the dew you trace
The marks of his gigantic pace ?
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry,
False Risingham shall yield or die, —
Ring out the castle 'larum bell !
Arouse the peasants with the knell !
Meantime, disperse— ride, gallants, ride !
Beset the wood on every side.
But if among you one there be,
That honours Mortham's memory,
Let him dismount and follow me !
Else on your crests sit fear and shame,
And foul suspicion dog your name ! "—

XXVI.

Instant to earth young Redmond sprung;
Instant on earth the harness rung

Canlo //.] ROKEBr. 355

Of twenty men of WyclilTe's band,
Who waited not their lord's command.
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew,
His mantle from his shoulders threw,
His pistols in his belt he placed,
The green-wood gained, the footsteps traced,
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds,
" To cover, hark !" and in he bounds.
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry,
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him— fly —
But venture not, in useless strife,
On ruffian desperate of his life.
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead !
Five hundred nobles for his head ! " —

The horsemen galloped, to make good

Each pass that issued from the wood.

Loud from the thickets rung the shout

Of Redmond and his eager route ;

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire,

And envying Redmond's martial fire,

And emulous of fame. — But where

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ]

He, bound by honour, law, and faith,

Avenger of his kinsman's death] —

Leaning against the elmin tree,

With drooping head and slackened knee,

And clenched teeth, and close-clasped hands,

In agony of soul he stands !

His downcast eye on earth is bent,

His soul to every sound is lent,

For in each shout that cleaves the air,

May ring discovery and despair.

What 'vailed it him, that brightly played
The morning sun on Mortham's glade]
All seems in giddy round to ride,
Like objects on a stormy tide,
Seen eddying by the moonlight dim,
Imperfectly to sink and swim.
What 'vailed it, that the fair domain,
Its battled mansion, hill, and plain,
On which the sun so brightly shone,
Envied so long, was now his own ]
The lowest dungeon, in that hour,
Of Brackenbury's dismal tower,
Had been his choice, could such a doom
Have opened Mortham's bloody tomb !
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear
To each surmise of hope or fear,
Murmured among the rustics round,
Who gathered at the 'larum sound,

356 ROKEBT, [Canto .11.

He dare not turn his Lead away,
Even to look up to heaven to pray,
Or call on hell, in bitter mood,
For one sharp death-shot from the wood !

At length o'erpassed that dreadful space.
Back straggling came the scattered chase ;
Jaded and weary, horse and man,
Returned the troopers, one by one.
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say,
All trace was lost of Bertram's way,
Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood,
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. —
0 fatal doom of human race !
What tyrant passions passions chase !
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone,
Avarice and pride resume their throne ;
The pang of instant terror by,
They dictate thus their slave's reply.

" Ay — let him range like hasty hound !

And if the grim wolf's lair be found,

Small is my care how goes the game

With Redmond or with Risingham. —

Nay, answer not, thou simple boy !

Thy fair Matilda, all so coy

To thee, is of another mood

To that bold youth of Erin's blood.

Thy ditties will she freely praise,

And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ;

In a rough path will oft command —

Accept at least — thy friendly hand ;

His she avoids, or, urged and prayed,

Unwilling takes bis proferred aid,

While conscious passion plainly speaks

In downcast look and blushing cheeks.

Whene'er he sings will she glide nigh,

And all her soul is in her eye,

Yet doubts she still to tender free

The wonted words of courtesy.

These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh,

And wipe, effeminate, thine eye 1

Thine shall she be, if thou attend

The counsels of thy sire and friend.

" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight.
Brave Cromwell turned the doubtful tide,
And conquest blest the rightful side ;
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead,
Rupert and that bold marquis fled ;

Canto ///.] ROKEBY. 357

Nobles and knights, so proud of late,

Must fine for freedom and estate.

Of these committed to my charge,

Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ;

Redmond, his page, arrived to say

2e reaches Barnard's towers today.

Right heavy shall his ransom be,

Unless that maid compound with thee !

Go to her now — be bold of cheer,

While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear ;

It is the very change of tide,

When best the female heart is tried —

Pride, prejudice, and modesty,

Are in the current swept to sea,

And the bold swain, who plies his oar,

May lightly row his bark to shore."

CANTO THIRD.

The hunting tribes of air and earth
Respect the brethren of their birth ;
Nature, who loves the claim of kind,
Less cruel chase to each assigned.
The falcon, poised on soaring wing,
Watches the wild-duck by the spring ;
The slow-hound wakens the fox's lair,
The greyhound presses on the hare ;
The eagle pounces on the lamb,
The wolf devours the fleecy dam ;
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear,
Their likeness and their lineage spare.
Man, only, mars kind nature's plan,
And turns the fierce pursuit on man ;
Plying war's desultory trade,
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son,
At first the bloody game begun.

The Indian, prowling for his prey,

Who hears the settlers track his way,

And knows in distant forest far

Camp his red brethren of the war ;

He, when each double and disguise

To baffle the pursuit he tries,

Low crouching now his head to hide,

Where swampy streams through rushes glide,

Now covering with the withered leaves

The foot-prints that the dew receives ;

He, skilled in every sylvan guile,

Knows not, nor tries, such various wile.

3i5S ROKEBY. [Canto III,

As Risingham, when on the wind
Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard
Each art her wily dalesmen dared,
When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high,
To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry,
Announcing Jed wood-axe and spear,
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ;
And well his venturous life had proved
The lessons that his childhood loved.

Oft had he shown, in climes afar,
Each attribute of roving war ;
The sharpened ear, the piercing eye,
The quick resolve in danger nigh ;
The speed, that, in the flight or chase,
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race;
The steady brain, the sinewy limb,
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim;
The iron frame, inured to bear
Each dire inclemency of air,
Nor less confirmed to undergo
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe.
These arts he proved, his life to save,
In peril oft by land and wave,
On Arawaca's desert shore,
Or where La Plata's billows roar,
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain
Tracked the marauder's steps in vain.
These arts, in Indian warfare tried,
Must save him now by Greta's side.

'Twas then, in hour of utmost need,

He proved his courage, art, and speed.

Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace,

Now started forth in rapid race.

Oft doubling back in mazy train,

To blind the trace the dews retain;

Now clombe the rocks projecting high

To baffle the pursuer's eye,

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound

The echo of his footsteps drowned.

But if the forest verge he nears,

There trample steeds and glimmer spears ;

If deeper down the copse he drew,

He heard the ranger's loud balloo,

Beating each cover while they came,

As if to start the sylvan game.

'Twas then — like tiger close beset

At every pass with toil and net,

'Countered, where'er he turns his glare,

By clashing arms and torches' flare,

Ccmio III.] ROKEBT. 3">9

Who meditates, with furious bound,
To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, —
'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes :
But as that crouching tiger, cowed
By brandished steel and shouting crowd,
Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud,
Bertram suspends his purpose stern,
And couches in the brake and fern,
Hiding his face, lest foemen spy
The sparkle of his swarthy eye.

Then Bertram might the bearing trace

Of the bold youth who led the chase,

Who paused to list for every sound,

Climbed every height to look around,

Then rushing on with naked sword,

Each dingle's bosky depths explored.

'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ;

'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly

Disordered from his glowing cheek ;

Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak.

A form more active, light, and strong,

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ;

The modest, yet the manly mien,

Might grace the court of maiden queen ;

A face more fair you well might find,

For Redmond's knew the sun and wind,

Nor boasted, from their tinge when free,

The charm of regularity ;

But every feature had the power

To aid the expression of the hour :

Whether gay wit, and humour sly,

Danced laughing in his light blue eye ;

Or bended brow, and glance of fire,

And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ;

Or soft and saddened glances show

Her ready sympathy with woe ;

Or in that wayward mood of mind,

When various feelings are combined,

When joy and sorrow mingle near,

And hope's bright wings are checked by fear,

And rising doubt3 keep transport down,

And anger lends a short-lived frown ;

In that strange mood which maids approve,

Even when they dare not call it love,

With every change his features played,

As aspens show the light and shade.

Well Risingham young Redmond knew ;
And much he marvelled that the crew,
Reused to revenge bold Mortham dead,
Were by that Mortham's foemen led ,

360 ROKEBY. [Canto III

For never felt Lis soul the woe,
That wails a generous foeman low,
Far less that sense of justice strong,
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong.
But small his leisure now to pause ;
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :
And twice that Redmond came so near,
Where Bertram couched like hunted deer,
The very boughs his steps displace,
Rustled against the ruffian's face,
Who; desperate, twice prepared to start,
And plunge his dagger in his heart !
But Redmond turned a different way,
And the bent boughs resumed their sway.
And Bertram held it wise, unseen,
-' Deeper to plunge in coppice green.
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake,
When roving hunters beat the brake,
Watches with red and glistening eye,
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh,
With forked tongue and venomed fang
Instant to dart the deadly pang ;
But if the intruders turn aside,
Away his coils unfolded glide,
And through the deep savannah wind,
Some undisturbed retreat to find.

But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit renew,
And Redmond's hollo on the wind,
Oft muttered in his savage mind —
" Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I
Alone this day's event to try,
With not a second here to see,
But the grey cliff and oaken-tree, —
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud,
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud !
No ! nor e'er try its melting power
Again in maiden's summer bower." —
Eluded, now behind him die,
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry;
He stands in Sca'rgill wood alone,
Nor hears he now a harsher tone
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry,
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by;
And on the dale, so lone and wild,
The summer sun in quiet smiled.

He listened long with anxious heart,
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,
And, while his stretched attention glows,
Refused his weary frame repose.

Canto 11/.] ROKEBY. ' 3C1

'Twas silence all — lie laid him down,
Where purple heath profusely shown,
And throatwort with its azure bell,
And moss, and thyme his cushion swell.
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide,
Beneath her banks now eddying dun.
Now brightly gleaming to the sun,
As, dancing over rock and stone,
In yellow light her current shone,
Matching in hue the favourite gem
Of Albin's mountain-diadem.
Then, tired to watch the current's play,
He turned his weary eyes away,
To where the band opposing showed
Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood-
One, prominent above the rest,
Reared to the sun its pale grey breast ;
Around its broken summit grew
The hazel rude, and sable yew ;
A thousand varied lichens dyed
Its waste and weather-beaten side,
And round its rugged basis lay,
By time or thunder rent away,
Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn,
Were mantled now by verdant thorn.
Such was the scene's wild majesty,
That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye.

In sullen mood he lay reclined,
Revolving, in his stormy mind,
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt,
His patron's blood by treason spilt;
A crime, it seemed, so dire and dread,
That it had power to wake the dead.
Then pondering on his life betrayed
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade,
In treacherous purpose to withhold,
So seemed it, Mortham's promised gold,
A deep and full revenge he vowed
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! —
If, in such mood, (as legends say,
And well believed that simple day,)
The Enemy of Man has power
To profit by the evil hour,
Here stood a wretch, prepared to change
His soul's redemption for revenge !
But, though his vows, with such a fire
Of earnest and intense desire
For vengeance dark and fell, were made,
A3 well might reach hell's lowest shade,

362 ItOKEBY. [Ccmto III.

No deeper clouds the grove embrowned.
No nether thunders snook the ground ;
The daemon knew his vassal's heart,
And spared temptation's needless art.

Oft, mingled with the direful theme,

Came Mortbam's form — was it a dream ?

Or had he seen, in vision true,

That very Mortham whom he slew]

Or had in living flesh appeared

The only man on earth he feared? —

To try the mystic cause intent,

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent,

'Countered at once a dazzling glance,

Like sunbeam flashed from sword or lance.

At once he started as for fight,

But not a foeman was in sight ;

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse,

He heard the river's sounding course;

The solitary woodlands lay,

As slumbering in the summer ray.

He gazed, like lion roused, around,

Then sunk again upon the ground.

'Twa3 but, he thought, some fitful beam,

Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream ;

Then plunged him from his gloomy train

Of ill-connected thoughts again,

Until a voice behind him cried,

"Bertram ! well met on Greta side." —

Instant his sword was in his hand,

As instant sunk the ready brand ;

Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood

To him that issued from the wood : —

" Guy Denzil !— is it thou 1 " he said ;

" Do we two meet in Scargill shade 1 —

Stand back a space ! — thy purpose show,

Whether thou comest as friend or foe.

Report hath said that Denzil's name

From Rokeby's band was razed with shame." —

" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale,

Who told his knight, in peevish zeal,

Of my marauding on the clowns

Of Calverley and Bradford downs.

I reck not. In a war to strive,

Where, save the leaders, none can thrive,

Suits ill my mood ; and better game

Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham,

Who watched with me in midnight dark,

To snatch a deer from Rokeby Park.

Howthink'st thou?" — " Speak thy purpose out;

I love not mystery or doubt."—

Canto III.] ROKEBY.

" Then list.— Not far there lurk a crew,

Of trusty comrades stanch and true,

Gleaned from both factions— Roundheads, freed

From cant of sermon and of creed ; _

And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine,

Spurn at the bonds of discipline.

Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold,

A warfare of our own to hold,

Than breathe our last on battle-down,

For cloak or surplice, mace or crown.

Our schemes are laid, our purpose set,

A chief and leader lack we yet.—

Thou art a wanderer, it is said,

For Mortham's death thy steps waylaid,

Thy head at price— so say our spies,

"Who range the valley in disguise.

Join then with us ; though wild debate

And wrangling rend our infant state,

Kach, to an equal loth to bow,

Will yield to chief renowned as thou." —

XIII.

" Even now," thought Bertram, " passion-
stirred,
I called on hell, and hell has heard !
What lack I, vengeance to command,
But of stanch comrades such a band i
This Denzil, vowed to every evil,
Might read a lesson to the devil.
Well, be it so ! each knave and fool
Shall serve as my revenge's tool." —
Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, (
But tell me where thy comrades lie 1 —
" Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said ;
" Descend and cross the river's bed,
Where rises yonder cliff so grey." —
" Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way.
Then muttered, " It is best make sure ;
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure."—
He followed down the steep descent,
Then through the Greta's streams they went,
And, when they reached the further shore,
They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV.

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmured din ;
But when Guy pulled the wilding spray,
And brambles, from its base away,
He saw, appearing to the air,
A little entrance, low and square,
Like opening cell of hermit lone,
Dark winding through the living stone.

3G3

364 KOKEBY. ICcmto III

Here entered Denzil, Bertram here,
And loud and louder on their ear,
As from the bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
Of old, the cavern strait and rude
In slaty rock the peasant hewed;
And Bringall's woods, and Scargill's, wave
E'en now o'er many a sister cave,
Where, far within the darksome rift,
The wedge and lever ply their thrift.
But war had silenced rural trade,
And the deserted mine was made
The banquet-ball, and fortress too,
Of Denzil and his desperate crew.
There Guilt his anxious revel kept ;
There on his sordid pallet slept
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained
Still in his slumbering grasp retained ;
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With vain repining on the past ;
Among the feasters waited near,
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear,
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,
With his own crimes reproaching Heaven ;
While Bertram showed, amid the crew,
The Master- Fiend that Milton drew.

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again,

To greet the leader of the train.

Behold the group by the pale lamp,

That struggles with the earthy damp.

By what strange features Vice hath known,

To single out and mark her own !

Yet some there are, whose brows retain

Less deeply stamped her brand and stain.

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy,

A mother's pride, a father's joy !

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined,

An early image fills his mind:

The cottage, once his sire's, he sees,

Embowered upon the banks of Tees;

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene,

And shares the dance on Gainford green,

A tear is springing — but the zest

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,

Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest.

On him they call, the aptest mate

For jovial song and merry feat ;

Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air,

As one victorious o'er despair,

He bids the ruddy cup go round,

Till sense and sorrow both are drowned,

And soon in merry wassail he,

The life of all their revelry,

Car.to J77.] ROKEBY. 365

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found
Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
\Mid noxious weeds at random strewed,
Themselves all profitless and rude. —
"With desperate merriment he sung,
The cavern to the chorus rung ;
Yet mingled with his reckless glee
Itemorse's bitter agony.

0 Brignal banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen.

And as I rode by Dalton-hall,
Beneath the turrets high,

A Maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily, —

CHORUS.

"0 Brignal banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green ;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen."

"If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me,

To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,

That dwell by dale and down.
And if thou canst that riddle read,

As read full well you may,
Then to the green wood shalt thou speed,

As blithe as Queen of May." —

CHORUS.

Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green ;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen.

XVII.

" I read you, by your bugle-horn,
And by your palfrey good,

1 read you for a Ranger sworn,

To keep the king's green wood." —
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,

And 'tis at peep of light ;
Ilis blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night." —

CHORUS.

Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair,

And Greta woods are gay ;
I would I were with Edmund there,

To reign his Queen of May !

366

BOKEBY. [Canto III.

" With burnished brand and musquetoon,

So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold dragoon,

That lists the tuck of drum." —
" I list no more the tuck of drum,

No. more the trumpet hear ;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,

My comrades take the spear.

" And 0 ! though Brignal banks be fair.

And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare,

Would reign my Queen of May !

" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die;
The fiend, whose Ian thorn lights the mead,

Were better mate than I !
And when I'm with my comrades met,

Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,

Nor think what we are now.

CHOKTJS.

" Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,

Would grace a summer queen." —

When Edmund ceased his simple song,
Was silence on the sullen throng,
Till waked some ruder mate their glee
With note of coarser minstrelsy.
But, far apart, in dark divan,
Denzil and Bertram many a plan,
Of import foul and fierce, designed,
While still on Bertram's grasping mind
The wealth of murdered Mortham hung;
Though half he feared his daring tongue,
When it should give his wishes birth,
Might raise a spectre from the earth !

At length his wondrous tale he told,

When scornful smiled his comrade bold ;

For, trained in licence of a court,

Religion's self was Denzil's sport;

Then judge in what contempt he held

The visionary tales of eld !

His awe for Bertram scarce repressed

The unbeliever's sneering jest.

" 'Twere hard," he said, "for sage or seer

To spell the subject of your fear ;

Canto III.] ROKEBY. 367

Nor do I boast the art renowned,
Vision and omen to expound.
Yet, faith, if I must needs afford
To spectre watching treasured hoard.
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof,
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof,
This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ;
For why his guard on Mortham hold,
When Rokeby Castle hath the gold
Thy patron won on Indian soil,
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ] "—

xx.

At this he paused— for angry shame

Lowered on the brow of Risingham.

He blushed to think that he should seem

Assertor of an airy dream,

And gave his wrath another theme.

" Denzil," he says, "though lowly laid.

Wrong not the memory of the dead ;

For, -while he lived, at Mortham's look

Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook !

And when he taxed thy breach of word

To yon fair Rose of Allenford,

I saw thee crouch like chastened hound,

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found.

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth

The spoil of piracy or stealth ;

He won it bravely with his brand,

When Spain waged warfare with our land.

Mark too— I brook no idle jeer,

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear;

Mine is but half the daemon's lot,

For I believe, but tremble not. —

Enough of this.— Say, why this hoard

Thou deem'st at Rokeby Castle stored ;

Or think'st that Mortham would bestow

His treasure with his faction's foe ] " —

XXI.

Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth ;

Rather he would have seen the earth

Give to ten thousand spectres birth,

Than ventured to awake to flame

The deadly wrath of Risingham.

Submiss he answered, " Mortham's mind,

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined.

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free.

A lusty reveller was he ;

But since returned from over sea,

A sullen and a silent mood

Hath numbed the current of his blood.

Hence he refused each kindly call

To Rokeby 's hospitable hall,

S()8 ROKEBY. [Canto 111,

And our stout Knight, at dawn of morn

Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,

Nor less, when eve his oak's embrowned,

To see the ruddy cup go round,

Took umbrage that a friend so near

Eefused to share bis chase and cheer ;

Thus did the kindred barons jar,

Ere they divided in the war.

Yet trust me, friend, Matilda fair

Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." —

" Destined to her ! to yon slight maid !
The prize my life had well-nigh paid,
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave,
I fought my patron's wealth to save ! — ■
Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er
Knew him that joyous cavalier,
Whom youthful friends and early fame
Called soul of gallantry and game.
A moody man, he sought our crew,
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew;
And rose, as men with us must rise,
By scorning life and all its ties.
On each adventure rash he roved,
As danger for itself he loved ;
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ;
111 was the omen if he smiled,
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ;
But when lie laughed, each luckless mate
Might hold our fortune desperate.
Foremost he fought in every broil,
Then scornful turned him from the spoil ;
Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their prey ;
Preaching, even then, to such as we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity !

" I loved him well — his fearless part,
His gallant leading won my heart.
And after each victorious fight
'Twas I that wrangled for his right,
Redeemed his portion of the prey
That greedier mates had torn away,
In field and storm thrice saved his life,
And once amid our comrades' strife. —
Yes, I have loved thee ! well hath proved
My toil, my danger, how I loved !
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate,
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate.
Eise, if thou canst !" he looked around,
And sternly stamped upon the ground —

Canto III] ROKEBT. 369

"Rise, with thy bearing proud and high,
ETen as this morn it met mine eye,
And give me, if thou darest, the lie ! " —
He paused — then, calm and passion-freed,
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed.

XXIV.

" Bertram, to thee I need not tell,
What thou has cause to wot so well,
How Superstition's nets were twined
Around the lord of Mortham's mind;
But since he drove thee from his tower,
A maid he found in Greta's bower,
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway
To charm his evil fiend away.
I know not if her features moved
Eemembrance of the wife he loved;
But he would gaze upon her eye,
Till his mood softened to a sigh.
He, whom no living mortal sought
To question of his secret thought,
Now every thought and care confessed
To his fair niece's faithful breast;
Nor was there aught of rich and rare,
In earth, in ocean, or in air,
But it must deck Matilda's hair.
Her love still bound him unto life;
But then awoke the civil strife,
And menials bore, by his commands,
Three coffers with their iron bauds,
From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep,
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep,
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride,—
His gift, if he in battle died." —

XXV.

" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train,
These iron- banded chests to gain:
Else, wherefore should he hover here,
Where many a peril waits him near,
For all his feats of war and peace,
For plundered boors and harts of greece 1*
Since through the hamlets as he fared,
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared,
Or where the Chase that hath not rung
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung 1" —
— " I hold my wont — my rangers go
Even now to track a milk-white doe.
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair,
In Greta wood she harbours fair,
And when my huntsman marks her way,
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey 1
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power,
We rate her ransom at her dower." —

* Deer in season.

24

b70 EOKEBT. [Canto in.

xxyi.
" 'Tis 'well ! — there's vengeance in the thought !
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought,
And hot-brained Redmond, too, 'tis said,
Pays lover's homage to the maid.
Bertram she scorned — if met by chance,
She turned from me her shuddering glance,
Like a nice dame, that will not brook
On what she hates and loathes to look;
She told to Mortham, she could ne'er
Behold me without secret fear,
Foreboding evil : — she may rue
To find her prophecy fall true ! —
The war has weeded Rokeby's train,
Few followers in his halls remain;
If thy scheme miss, then brief and bold,
We are enow to storm the hold,
Bear off the plunder and the dame,
And leave the castle all in flame." —

XXVII.

" Still art thou Valour's venturous son !

Yet ponder first the risk to run:

The menials of the castle, true,

And stubborn to their charge, though few;

The wall to scale — the moat to cross —

The wicket-grate— the inner fosse" —

— " Fool! if we blench for toys like these,

On what fair guerdon can we seize 1

Our hardiest venture, to explore

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door,

And the best prize we bear away,

The earnings of his sordid day." —

— " A while thy hasty taunt forbear :

In sight of road more sure and fair,

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath,

Or wantonness, a desperate path ?

List then ; — for vantage or assault,

From gilded vane to dungeon-vault,

Each pass of Rokeby-house I know :

There is one postern dark and low,

That issues at a secret spot,

By most neglected or forgot.

Now, could a spial of our train

On fair pretext admittance gain,

That sally-port might be unbarred ;

Then, vain were battlement and ward !"

XXVIII.

" Now speak'st thou well; — to me the same,.

If force or art shall urge the game;

Indifferent if like fox I wind.

Or spring like tiger on the hind. —

But hark ! our merry men so gay

Troll forth another roundelay.

Canto III.] ROKEBY. 371

Song.

" A weary lot is thine, fair maid,

A weary lot is thine !
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid.

And press the rue for wine !
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,

A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green, —

No more of me you knew,
My love !

No more of me you knew.

" This morn is merry June, I trow,

The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow,

Ere we two meet again." —
He turned his charger as he spake,

Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,

Said, " Adieu for evermore,
My love !

And adieu for evermore." —

" What youth is this, your baud among
The best for minstrelsy and song?
In his wild notes seem aptly met
A strain of pleasure and regret." —
" Edmund of Winston is his name ;
The hamlet sounded with the fame
Of early hopes his childhood gave, —
Now centred all in Brignal cave !
I watch him well — his wayward course
Shows oft a tincture of remorse.
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart,
And oft the scar will ache and smart.
Yet is he useful; — of the rest
By fits the darling and the jest,
His harp, his story, and his lay,
Oft aid the idle hours away :
When unemployed, each fiery mate
Is ripe for mutinous debate.
He tuned his strings e'en now — again
He wakes them, with a blither strain.

Song.

ALLEN-A-DALE.

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning.
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.

372 ROKEBY. [Canto III

Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale !
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale !

Allen-a-Dale "was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as

bright ;
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,
Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ;
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,
Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come:
The mother, she asked of his household and home :
" Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill.
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still;
'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry !
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale !

" Thou seest that, whether sad or gay,
Love mingles ever in his lay.
But when his boyish wayward fit
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ;

0 ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape
Each dialect, each various shape." —
"Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy —
Soft ! who comes here V — " My trusty spy.
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer Y
" I have — but two fair stags are near.

1 watched her as she slowly strayed
From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade;
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side,
And then young Redmond in his pride
Shot down to meet them on their way:
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to say:
There's time to pitch both toil and net,
Before their patn be homeward set." —
A hurried and a whispered speech
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach,
Who, turning to the robber band,
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand.

Canto IV] KOKEBY. S73

CANTO FOURTH.

Ween Denmark's Raven soared on high,
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,
And the broad shadow of her wing
Blackened each cataract and spring.
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source,
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force;
Beneath the shade the Northmen came,
Fixed on each vale a Runic name,
Reared high their altars' rugged stone,
And gave their gods the land they won.
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine,
And one sweet brooklet's silver line,
And Woden's Croft did title gain
From the stern Father of the Slain ;
But to the Monarch of the Mace,
That held in fight the foremost place,
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse,
Near Stratforth high they paid their vows,
Remembered Thor's victorious fame,
And gave the dell the Thunderer's name.

Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween,
Who gave that soft and quiet scene,
With all its varied light and shade,
And every little sunny glade,
And the blithe brook that strolls along
Its pebbled bed with summer song,
To the grim god of blood and scar,
The grisly King of Northern War.
0 better were its banks assigned
To spirits of a gentler kind i
For, where the thicket-groups recede,
And the rathe primrose decks the mead,
The velvet grass seems carpet meet
For the light fairies' lively feet.
Ton tufted knoll, with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings
Round ash and elm in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.

nere rise no cliffs the vale to shade,
But, skirting every sunny glade,

374 ROKEBT. [Canto IP.

In fair variety of green

The woodland lends its sylvan screen.

Hoary, yet naughty, frowns the oak,

Its boughs by weight of ages broke ;

And towers erect, in sable spire,

The pine-tree scathed by lightning fire;

The drooping ash and birch, between,

Hang their fair tresses o'er the green,

And all beneath, at random grow

Each coppice dwarf of varied show,

Or, round the stems profusely twined,

Fling summer odours on the wind.

Such varied group Urbino's hand

Round him of Tarsus nobly planned,

What time he bade proud Athens own

On Mars's Mount the God Unknown !

Then grey Philosophy stood nigh,

Though bent by age, in spirit high ;

There rose the scar-seamed Veteran's spear,

There Grecian Beauty bent to hear,

"While Childhood at her foot was placed,

Or clung delighted to her waist.

" And rest we here," Matilda said,
And sate her in the varying shade.
" Chance-met, we well may steal an hour,
To friendship due from fortune's power.
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ;
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest,
No further urge thy desperate quest.
For to my care a charge is left,
Dangerous to one of aid bereft,
Well-nigh an orphan, and alone,
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown."—
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced,
Beside her on the turf she placed,
Then paused, with downcast look and eye,
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh.
Her conscious diffidence he saw,
Drew backward as in modest awe,
And sate a little space removed,
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved.

Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair,
Half hid and half revealed to view
Her full dark eye of hazel hue.
The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek,
That you had said her hue was pale;
But if she faced the summer gale,

Canto TV.] KOKEBY. 375

Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved,

Or heard the praise of those she loved,

Or when of interest was expressed

Aught that waked feeling in her breast,

The mantling blood in ready play

Rivalled the blush of rising day.

There was a soft and pensive grace,

A cast of thought upon her face,

That suited well the forehead high,

The eye-lash dark and down-cast eye ;

The mild expression spoke a mind

In duty firm, composed, resigned ; —

'Tis that which Roman art has given,

To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven.

In hours of sport, that mood gave way

To Fancy's light and frolic play;

And when the dance, or tale, or song.

In harmless mirth sped time along,

Full oft her doating sh-e would call

His Maud the merriest of them all.

But days of war, and civil crime,

Allowed but ill such festal time,

And her soft pensiveness of brow

Had deepened into sadness now.

In Marston field her father ta'en,

Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain,

While every ill her soul foretold,

From Oswald's thirst of power and gold,

And boding thoughts that she must part

With a soft vision of her heart, —

All lowered around the lovely maid,

To darken her dejection's shade.

Who has not heard — while Erin yet

Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit —

Who has not heard how brave O'Neale

In English blood imbrued his steel,

Against St. George's cross blazed high

The banners of his Tanistry,

To fiery Essex gave the foil,

And reigned a prince in Ulster's soil ]

But chief arose his victor pride,

When that brave Marshal fought and died,

And Avon-Duff to ocean bore

His billows red with Saxon gore.

'Twas first in that disastrous fight,

Rokeby and Mortham proved their might.

There had they fallen amongst the rest,

But pity touched a chieft;riu's breast;

The Tanist he to great O'Neale,

He checked his followers' bloody zeal,

To quarter took the kinsmen bold,

And bore them to his mountain-hold,

376 ROKEBT. [Canto /V.

Gave them each sylvan joy to know,
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could snow,
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer,
Showed them the chase of wolf and deer,
And, when a fitting time was come,
Safe and un ransomed sent them home,
Loaded with many a gift, to prove
A generous foe's respect and love.

Years speed away. On Rokeby's head
Some touch of early snow was shed;
Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave,
The peace which James the Peaceful gave,
While Mortham, far beyond the main,
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. — ■
It chanced upon a wintry night,
That whitened Stanmore's stormy height,
The chase was o'er, the stag was killed,
In Eokeby-hall the cups were filled,
And by the huge stone-chimney sate
The Knight, in hospitable state.
Moonless the sky, the hour was late,
When a loud summons shook the gate,
And sore for entrance and for aid
A voice of foreign accent prayed.
The porter answered to the call,
And instant rushed into the hall
A Man, whose aspect and attire
Startled the circle by the fire.

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread

Around his bare and matted head;

On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim,

His vesture showed the sinewy limb ;

In saffron dyed, a linen vest

Was frequent folded round his breast;

A mantle long and loose he wore,

Shaggy with ice, and stained with gore.

He clasped a burthen to his heart,

And, resting on a knotted dart,

The snow from hair and beard he shook,

And round him gazed with wildered look.

Then up the hall, with staggering pace,

He hastened by the blaze to place,

Half lifeless from the bitter air,

His load, a Boy of beauty rare.

To Kokeby, next, he louted low,

Then stood erect his tale to show,

With wild majestic port and tone,

Like envoy of some barbarous throne.

" Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear !

Turlough O'Nealo salutes thee dear;

Canto /I" BOKEBT. 377

He graces thee, and to tby care

Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair.

lie bids thee breed, him as tby son,

For Turlougb's days of joy are done ;

And other lords have seized his land,

And faint and feeble is his hand,

And all the glory of Tyrone

Is like a morning vapour flown.

To bind the duty on thy soul,

He bids thee think on Erin's bowl!

If any wrong the young O'Neale,

He bids thee think of Erin's steel.

To Mortkam first this charge was due,

But, in his absence, honours you. —

.Now is my master's message by,

And Ferraught will contented die. " —

His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale,
He sunk when he had told his tale;
For, hid beneath his mantle wide,
A mortal wound was in his side.
Vain was all aid — in terror wild,
And sorrow, screamed the orphan child.
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes,
And faintly strove to soothe his cries;
All reckless of his dying pain,
He blest, and blest him o'er again !
And kissed the little hands outspread,
And kissed and crossed the infant head,
And, in his native tongue and phrase,
Prayed to each saint to watch his days;
Then all his strength together drew,
The charge to Rokeby to renew.
When half was faltered from his breast,
And half by dying signs expressed,
" Bless thee, O'Neale !" he faintly said,
And thus the faithful spirit fled.

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail
Upon the child to end the tale ;
And then he said, that from his home
His grandsire had been forced to roam,
Which bud not been if Redmond's hand
Had but had strength to draw the brand,
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red,
That hung beside the grey wolf's head. —
'Twas from his broken phrase descried,
His foster-father was his guide,
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore
Letters, and gifts a goodly store;
But ruffians met them in the wood.
Ferraught in battle boldly stood,

37S ROKEBY. [Canto IV.

Till wounded and o'erpowered at length,
And stripped of all, his failing strength
Just hore him here — and then the child
Renewed again his moaning wild.

XI.

The tear, down Childhood's cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on the rose;
When next the summer breeze comes by,
And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
Won by their care, the orphan child
Soon on his- new protector smiled,
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair,
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair.
But blithest laughed that cheek and eye,
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh;
'Twas his, with elder brother's pride,
Matilda's tottering steps to guide;
His native lays in Irish tongue,
To soothe her infant ear he sung,
And primrose twined with daisy fair,
To form a chaplet for her hair.
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand,
The children still were hand and hand,
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed
The early knot so kindly tied.

XII.

But summer months bring wilding shoot
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit;
And years draw on our human span,
From child to boy, from boy to man;
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen
A gallant boy in hunter's green.
He loves to wake the felon boar,
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore,
And loves, against the deer so dun,
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun ;
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime,
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb,
And down its clustered stores to hail,
Where young Matilda holds her veil.
And she, whose veil receives the shower,
Is altered too, and knows her power;
Assumes a monitress's pride,
Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide,
Yet listens still to hear him tell
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell,
How at his fall the bugle rung,
Till rock and green-wood answer flung;
Then blesses her, that man can find
A pastime of such savage kind!

XIII.

But Redmond knew to weave his tale
So well with praise of wood and dale,

Canto IV.-\ ROKEBY. 379

And knew so well each point to trace,

Gives living interest to the chase,

And knew so well o'er all to throw

His spirit's wild romantic glow,

That, while she blamed, and while she feared,

She loved each venturous tale she heard.

Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain

To bower and hall their steps restrain,

Together they explored the page

Of glowing bard or gifted sage ;

Oft, placed the evening fire beside,

The minstrel art alternate tried,

While gladsome harp and lively lay

Bade winter night flit fast away :

Thus from their childhood blending still

Their sport, their study, and their skill,

An uniun of the soul they prove,

But must not think that it was love.

But though they dared not, envious Fame

Soon dared to give that union name;

And when so often, side by side,

From year to year the* pair she eyed,

She sometimes blamed the good old Knight

As dull of ear and dim of sight,

Sometimes his purpose would declare,

That young O'Neale should wed his heir.

The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise

And bandage from the lovers' eyes;

'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son,

Had Rokeby's favour well-nigh won.

Now must they meet with change of cheer.

With mutual looks of shame and fear;

Now must Matilda stray apart,

To school her disobedient heart;

And Redmond now alone must rue

The love he never can subdue.

But factions rose, and Rokeby sware

No rebel's son should wed his heir;

And Redmond, nurtured while a child

In many a bard's traditions wild,

Now sought the lonely wood or stream,

To cherish there a happier dream,

Of maiden won by sword or lance,

As in the regions of romance ;

And count the heroes of his line,

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,

Shane- Dymas wild, and Geraldine,

And Connan-More, who vowed his race

For ever to the fight and chase,

And cursed him, of his lineage born,

Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn,

Or leave the mountain and the wold,

To shroud himself in castled hold.

380 ROKEBY. [Canto IV.

From sueh examples Lope lie drew,
And brightened as the trumpet blew.

XT.

If brides were won by heart and blade,
Redmond had both his cause to aid,
And all beside of nurture rare
That might beseem a baron's heir.
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife,
On Rokeby's lord bestowed his life,
And well did Rokeby's generous knight
Young Redmond for the deed requite.
Nor was his liberal care and cost
Upon the gallant stripling lost :
Seek the North Riding broad and wide,
Like Redmond none could steed bestride;
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland,
Like Redmond none could wield' a brand;
And then, of humour kind and free,
And bearing him to each degree
With frank and fearless courtesy,
There never youth was formed to steal
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale.

Sir Richard loved him as his son,
And when the days of peace were done,
And to the gales of war he gave
The banner of his sires to wave,
Redmond, distinguished by his care,
He chose that honoured flag to bear,
And named his page, the next degree
In that old time to chivalry.
In five pitched fields he well maintained
The honoured place his worth obtained,
And high was Redmond's youthful name
Blazed in the roll of martial fame.
Had fortune smiled on Marston fight,
The eve had seen him dubbed a knight ;
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife,
Of Rokeby's lord he saved the life,
But when he saw him prisoner made,
He kissed and then resigned his blade,
And yielded him an easy prey
To those who led the Knight away,
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove
In prison, as in fight, his love.

XVII.

When lovers meet in adverse hour,
'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower,
A wat'ry ray an instant seen
The darkly-closing clouds between.
As Redmond on the turf reclined,
The past and present filled his mind:

Canto IV.] ROKEBY. 3S1

" It was not thus," Affection said,

" I dreamed of my return, dear maid !

Not thus, when, from thy trembling hand,

I took the banner and the brand,

When round me, as the bugles blew,

Their blades three hundred warriors drew,

And, while the standard I unrolled,

Clashed their bright arms with clamour bold.

Where is that banner now 1 — its pride

Lies whelmed in 0 use's sullen tide !

Where now these warriors ? — in their gore,

They cumber Marston's dismal moor !

And what avails a useless brand,

Held by a captive's shackled hand,

That only would his life retain,

To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! " —

Thus Redmond to himself apart.

Nor lighter was his rival's heart ;

For Wilfrid, while his generous soul

Disdained to profit by control,

By many a sign could mark too plain,

Save with such aid, his hopes were vain.

But now Matilda's accents stole

On the dark visions of their soul,

And bade their mournful musing fly,

Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.

" I need not to my friends recall,

How Mortham shunned my father's hall ;

A man of silence and of woe,

Yet ever anxious to bestow

On my poor self whate'er could prove

A kinsman's confidence and love.

My feeble aid could sometimes chase

The clouds of sorrow for a space,

But oftener, fixed beyond my power,

I marked his deep despondence lower.

One dismal cause, by all unguessed,

His fearful confidence confessed ;

And twice it was my hap to see

Examples of that agony,

Which for a season can o'erstrain

And wreck the structure of the brain.

He had the awful power to know

The approaching mental overthrow.

And while his mind had courage yet

To struggle with the dreadful tit.

The victim writhed against its throes,

Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows.

This malady, I well could mark,

Sprung from some direful cause and dark

But still he kept its source concealed,

Till arming for the civil field ;

3i>2 ROKEBY. [Canto IV.

Then in my charge he bade me hold
A treasure huge of gems and gold,
With this disjointed dismal scroll
That tells the secret of his soul,
In such wild words as oft betray
A mind by anguish forced astray."

Hloxijjam's fjistorg.

" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start,

As if a dagger thrilled my heart,

When it has happed some casual phrase

Waked memory of my former days.

Believe, that few can backward cast

Their thoughts with pleasure on the past;

But I ! — my youth was rash and vain,

And blood and rage my manhood stain,

And my grey hairs must now descend

To my cold grave without a friend !

Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown

Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known.

And must I lift the bloody veil,

That hides my dark and fatal tale !

I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease !

Leave me one little hour in peace !

Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill

Thine own commission to fulfil 1

Or, while thou point'st, with gesture fierce,

Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse,

How can I paint thee as thou wert,

So fair in face, so warm in heart ! —

" Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ;
But hers was like the sunny glow,
That laughs on earth and all below !
We wedded secret — there was need —
Differing in country and in creed ;
And when to Mortham's tower she came,
We mentioned not her race and name,
Until thy sire, who fought afar,
Should turn him home from foreign war,
On whose kind influence we relied
To soothe her father's ire and pride.
Few months we lived retired, unknown
To all but one dear friend alone,
One darling friend— I spare his shame,
I will not write the villain's name !
My trespasses I might forget,
And sue in vengeance for the debt
Due by a brother worm to me,
Ungrateful to God's clemency,

Oanio IV.} ROKEBr. SS3

That spared me penitential time,
Nor cut me off amid my crime. —

" A kindly smile to all she lent,

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent

So kind, that, from its harmless glee,

The wretch misconstrued villany.

Repulsed in his presumptuous love,

A vengeful snare the traitor ivove.

Alone we sate — the flask had flowed,

My blood with heat unwonted glowed,

When through the alleyed walk we spied

With hurried step my Edith glide,

Cowering beneath the verdant screen,

As one unwilling to be seen.

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile

That curled the traitor's cheek the while !

Fiercely I questioned of the cause ;

He made a cold and artful pause,

Then prayed it might not chafe my mood —

' There was a gallant in the wood ! '

We had been shooting at the deer ;

My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near :

That ready weapon of my wrath

I caught, and, hasting up the path,

In the yew-grove my wife I found,

A stranger's arms her neck had bound !

I marked his heart — the bow I drew —

I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true !

I found my Edith's dying charms

Locked in her murdered brother's arms !

He came in secret to inquire

Her state, and reconcile her sire.—

" All fled my rage — the villain first,
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed,
He sought in far and foreign clime
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime.
The manner of the slaughter done
Was known to few, my guilt to none ;
Some tale my faithful steward framed —
I know not what — of shaft mis-aimed ;
And even from those the act who knew,
He hid the hand from which it flew.
Untouched by human laws I stood,
But God had heard the cry of blood I
There is a blank upon my mind,
A fearful vision ill defined,
Of raving till my flesh was torn,
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn —
And when I waked to woe more mild.
And questioned of my infant child —

384 KOKEBT. [Canto IV.

(Have I not written, that she bare

A boy, like summer morning fair ?)

"With looks confused my menials tell

That armed men in Mortham dell

Beset the nurse's evening way,

And bore her, with her charge, away.

My faithless friend, and none but he,

Could profit by this villany ;

Him, then, I sought, with purpose dread

Of treble vengeauce on his head !

He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound

Some faint relief from wandering found,

And over distant land and sea

I bore my load of misery.

" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led

Among a daring crew and dread,

With whom full oft my hated life

I ventured in such desperate strife,

That even my fierce associates saw

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe.

Much then I learned, and much can show,

Of human guilt and human woe,

Tet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known

A wretch whose sorrows matched my own ! —

It chanced, that after battle fray, .

Upon the bloody field we lay ;

The yellow moon her lustre shed

Upon the wounded and the dead,

While, sense in toil and wassail drowned,

My ruffian comrades slept around.

There came a voice — its silver tone

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own —

' Ah, wretch ! ' it said, ' what mak'st thou hers

"While unavenged my bloody bier,

While unprotected lives mine heir,

Without a father's name and care V —

" I heard — obeyed — and homeward drew ;
The fiercest of our desperate crew
I brought, at time of need to aid
My purposed vengeance, long delayed.
But, humble be my thanks to Heaven,
That better hopes and thoughts has given,
And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught,
Mercy by mercy must be bought ! —
Let me in misery rejoice —
I've seen his face— I've heard his voice —
I claimed of him my only child —
As he disowned the theft, he smiled !
That very calm and callous look,
That fiendish sneer his visage took,

Canto I r.] ROKEBT. 3S5

As when he said, in scornful mood,
' There is a gallant in the wood ! ' —
— I did not slay him as he stood —
All praise be to my Maker given !
Long-sufTrance is one path to heaven." —

Thus far the woeful tale was heard,
When something in the thicket stirred.
Up Redmond sprung ; the villain Guy,
(For he it was that lurked so nigh)
Drew back — he durst not cross his steel
A moment's space with brave O'Neale,
For all the treasured gold that rests
In Mortham's iron-banded chests.
Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said
Some roe was rustling in the shade.
Bertram laughed grimly, when he saw
His timorous comrade backward draw :
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear
A single arm, and aid so near !
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer.
Give me thy carabine — I'll show
An art that thou wilt gladly know,
How thou may'st safely quell a foe." —

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew

The spreading birch and hazels through,

Till he had Redmond full in view.

The gun he levelled — mark like this

Was Bertram never known to miss,

When fair opposed to aim there sate

An object of his mortal hate.

That day young Redmond's death had seen,

But twice Matilda came between

The carabine and Redmond's breast,

Just ere the spring his finger pressed.

A deadly oath the ruffian swore,

But yet his fell design forbore:

" It ne'er," he muttered, " shall be said,

That thus I scathed thee, haughty maid!

Then moved to seek more open aim,

When to his side Guy Denzil came :

" Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone

For ever, if thou fire the gun.

By all the fiends, an armed force

Descends the dell, of foot and horse !

We perish if they hear a shot —

Madman ! we have a safer plot —

Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back !

Behold, down yonder hollow track,

The warlike leader of the band

Comes, with his broad-sword in his hand."—

Bertram looked up ; he saw, he knew

25

386 ROK.EBY. [Canto IV.

That Denzil's fears had counselled true,
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew,
Threaded the woodlands undescried,
And gained the cave on Greta-side.

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath,

Doomed to captivity or death,

Their thoughts to one sad subject lent,

Saw not nor heard the ambushment.

Heedless and unconcerned they sate,.

While on the very verge of fate ;

Heedless and unconcerned remained,

When Heaven the murderer's arm restrained;

As ships drift darkling down the tide,

Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide.

Uninterrupted thus they heard

What Mortham's closing tale declared.

He spoke of wealth as of a load,

By Fortune on a wretch bestowed,

In bitter mockery of hate,

His cureless woes to aggravate ;

But yet he prayed Matilda's care

Might save that treasure for his heir —

His Edith's son — for still he raved

As confident his life was saved ;

In frequent vision, he averred,

He saw his face, his voice he heard,

Then argued calm — had murder been,

The blood, the corpses, had been seen;

Some had pretended, too, to mark

On Windermere a stranger bark,

Whose crew with jealous care, yet mild,

Guarded a female and a child.

While these faint proofs he told and pressed,

Hope seemed to kindle in his breast ;

Though inconsistent, vague, and vain,

It warped his judgment and his brain.

These solemn words his story close : —
" Heaven witness for me, that I chose
My part in this sad civil fight,
Moved by no cause but England's right.
My country's groans have bid me draw
My sword for gospel and for law ; —
These righted, I fling arms aside,
And seek my son through Europe wide.
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh
Already casts a grasping eye,
With thee may unsuspected lie.
When of my death Matilda hears,
Let her retain her trust three years ;
If none, from me, the treasure claim,
Perished is Mortham's race and name ;

Canto IV.) ROKEBT. 387

Then let it leave her generous hand,
And flow in bounty o'er the laud,
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot,
Rebuild the peasant's mined cot ;
So spoils, acquired by fight afar,
Shall mitigate domestic war."-

The generous youths, who well had known

Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone,

To that high mind, by sorrow swerved,

Grave sympathy his woes deserved ;

But Wilfrid chief, who saw revealed

Why Mortham wished his life concealed,

In secret, doubtless, to pursue

The schemes his wildered fancy drew.

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell,

That she would share her father's cell,

His partner of captivity,

Where'er his prison-house should be ;

Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall,

Dismantled, and forsook by all,

Open to rapine and to stealth,

Had now no safe-guard for the wealth

Intrusted by her kinsman kind,

And for such noble use designed.

" Was Barnard Castle then her choice,"

Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice,

" Since there the victor's laws ordain

Uer father must a space remain V —

A fluttered hope his accents shook,

A fluttered joy was in his look.

Matilda hastened to reply,

For anger flashed in Redmond's eye ; —

" Duty," she said, with gentle grace,

" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ;

Else had I for my sire assigned

Prison less galling to his mind,

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees,

And hears the murmur of the Tees,

Recalling thus, with every glance,

What captive's sorrow can enhance ;

But where those woes are highest, there

Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." —

He felt the kindly check she gave,

And stood abashed — then answered grave : —

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid,

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid.

I have beneath mine own command,

So wills my sire, a gallant band,

And well could send some horsemen wight

To bear the treasure forth by night,

3SS ROKEBT. [Canto V.

And so bestow it as you deem

In tbese ill days may safest seem." —

" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said :

"0 be it not one day delayed !

And, more thy sister-friend to aid,

Be thou thyself content to hold,

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold,

Safest with thee. — While thus she spoke,

Armed soldiers on their converse broke,

The same of whose approach afraid,

The ruffians left their ambuscade.

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low,

Then looked around as for a foe.

"What mean'st thou, friend," young WyclifFe saiil,

" Why thus in arms beset the glade ? "

— " That would I gladly learn from you ;

For up my squadron as I drew,

To exercise our martial game

Upon the moor of Barninghame,

A stranger told you were waylaid,

Surrounded, and to death betrayed.

He had a leader's voice, I ween,

A falcon glance, a warrior's mien.

He bade me bring you instant aid ;

I doubted not, and I obeyed." —

Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed,
Turned short, and on the speaker gazed,
While Redmond every thicket round
Tracked earnest as a questing hound,
And Denzil's carabine he found ;
Sure evidence, by which they knew
The warning was as kind as true.
Wisest it seemed, with cautious speed
To leave the dell. It was agreed,
That Redmond, with Matilda fair,
And fitting guard, should home repair ;
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend,
With a strong band, his sister-friend,
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers,
Secret and safe, the banded chests,
In which the wealth of Mortham rests.
This hasty purpose fixed, they part,
Each with a grieved and anxious heart.

CANTO FIFTH.

Toe sultry summer day is done,
The western hills have hid the sun,
But mountain peak and village spire
Retain reflection of his fire.

Canto V.]

Old Barnard's towers are purple still,
To those that gaze from Toller Hill;
Distant and high the tower of Bowes
Like steel upon the anvil glows;
And Staninore's ridge, behind that lay,
Kich with the spoils of parting day,
In crimson and in gold arrayed,
Streaks yet a while the closing shade,
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven
The tints which brighter hours had given.
Thus aged men full loath and slow
The vanities of life forego,
And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till Memory lends her light no more.

The eve, that slow on upland fades,
Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades,
Where, sunk within their banks profound,
Her guardian streams to meeting wound.
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown
Of noontide made a twilight brown,
Impervious now to fainter light,
Of twilight make an early night.
Hoarse into middle air arose
The vespers of the roosting crows,
And with congenial murmurs seem
To wake the Genii of the stream;
For louder clamoured Greta's tide,
And Tees in deeper voice replied,
And fitful waked the evening wind,
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned.
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul
Felt in the scene a soft control,
With lighter footstep pressed the ground,
And often paused to look around;
And, though his path was to his love,
Could not but linger in the grove,
To drink the thrilling interest dear,
Of awful pleasure checked by fear.
Such inconsistent moods have we,
Even when our passions strike the key.

Now through the wood's dark mazes past,
The opening lawn he reached at last,
Where, silvered by the moonlight ray,
The ancient Hall before him lay.
Those martial terrors long were fled,
That frowned of old around its head:
The battlements, the turrets grey,
Seemed half abandoned to decay ;
On barbican and keep of stone
Stern Time the foeman's work had done;

390 ROKEBT. [Canto 7

Where banners the invader braved,
The hare-bell now and wall-flower waved ;
In the rude guard-room, where of yore
Their weary hours the warders wore,
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze,
On the paved floor the spindle plays;
The flanking guns dismounted lie,
The moat is ruinous and dry,
The grim portcullis gone— and all
The fortress turned to peaceful hall.

But yet precautions, lately ta'en,

Showed danger's day revived again;

The court-yard walls showed marks of care,

The fallen defences to repair,

Lending such strength as might withstand

The insult of marauding band.

The beams once more were taught to bear

The trembling draw-bridge into air,

And not, til] questioned o'er and o'er,

For Wilfrid oped the jealous door;

And when he entered, bolt and bar

Resumed their place with sullen jar;

Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch,

The old grey porter raised his torch,

And viewed him o'er, from foot to head,

Ere to the hall his steps he led.

That huge old hall, of knightly state,

Dismantled seemed and desolate.

The moon through transom-shafts of stone,

Which crossed the latticed oriels, shone,

And by the mournful light she gave,

The Gothic vault seemed funeral cave.

Pennon and banner waved no more

O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar,

Nor glimmering arms were marshalled seen,

To glance those sylvan spoils between.

Those arms, those ensigns, borne away,

Accomplished Rokeby's brave array,

But all were lost on Marston's day !

Yet, here and there the moon-beams fall

Where armour yet adorns the wall,

Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight,

And useless in the modern fight ;

Like veteran relique of the v/ars,

Known only by neglected scars.

Matilda soon to greet him came,
And bade them light the evening flame;
Said, all for parting was prepared,
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard.
But then, reluctant to unfold
His father's avarice of gold,

Canto V.] BOKEBY.

He hinted, that, lest jealous eye
Should on their precious burthen pry,
He judged it best the castle gate
To enter when the night wore late;
And therefore he had left command
With those he trusted of his band,
That they should be at Rokeby met,
"What time the midnight watch was set.
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care
Till then was busied to prepare
All needful, meetly to arrange
The mansion for its mournful change.
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased,
His cold unready hand he seized,
And pressed it till his kindly strain
The gentle youth returned again.
Seemed as between them this was said,
" A while let jealousy be dead ;
And let our contest be, whose cai-e
Shall best assist this helpless fair."—

There was no speech the truce to bind,

It was a compact of the mind,

A generous thought at once impressed

On either rival's generous breast.

Matilda well the secret took,

From sudden change of mien and look.

And — for not small had been her fear

Of jealous ire and danger near —

Felt, even in her dejected state,

A joy beyond the reach of fate.

They closed beside the chimney's blaze,

And talked and hoped for happier days,

And lent their spirits' rising glow

A while to gild impending woe; —

High privilege of youthful time,

Worth all the pleasures of our prime !

The bickering fagot sparkled bright,

And gave the scene of love to sight,

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow,

Played on Matilda's neck of snow,

Her nut-brown curl3 and forehead high;

And laughed in Redmond's azure eye.

Two lovers by the maiden sate,

Without a glance of jealous hate; •

The maid her lovers sate between,

With open brow and equal mien; —

It is a sight but rarely spied,

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride.

YII.

While thus in peaceful guise they sate,
A knock alarmed the outer gate,

391

392 ROKEBY. [Canto Y.

And, ere the tardy porter stirred,
The tinkling of a harp was heard.
A manly voice, of mellow swell,
Bore burden to the music well.

Song.

" Summer eve is gone and past,
Summer dew is falling fast;
I have wandered all the day,
Do not bid me further stray !
Gentle hearts of gentle kin,
Take the wandering Harper in !"—

But the stern porter answer gave,

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave!

The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow,

Were meeter trade for such as thou. " —

At this unkind reproof, again

Answered the ready minstrel's strain.

Sjojuj ILesnttub-.

" Bid not me, in battle-field,
Buckler lift, or broad-sword wield !
All my strength and all my art
Is to touch the gentle heart
With the wizard notes that ring
From the peaceful minstrel stiing." —
The porter, all unmoved, replied, —
" Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide;
If longer by the gate thou dwell,
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well." —

VIII.

With somewhat of appealing look,

The Harper's part young Wilfrid took:

" These notes so wild and ready thrill,

They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ;

Hard were his task to seek a home

More distant, since the night is come ;

And for his faith I dare engage —

Your Harpool's blood is soured by age;

His gate, once readily displayed,

To greet the friend, the poor to aid,

Now even to me, though known of old,

Did but reluctantly unfold. " —

— "0 blame not, as poor Harpool's crime.

An evil of this evil time.

He deems dependent on his care

The safety of his patron's heir,

Nor judges meet to ope the tower

To guest unknown at parting hour,

Urging his duty to excess

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness.

For this poor Harper I would fain

He may relax : — hark to his strain !

Canto V.] ROKEBY. 393

" I have song of war for knight,
Lay of love for lady bright,
Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare;
Dark the night, and long till day,
Do not bid me further stray !

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame,
I can count them name by name;
Legends of their line there be,
Known to few, but known to me;
If you honour Rokeby's kin,
Take the wandering Harper in !

" Rokeby's lords had fair regard
For the harp, and for the bard ;
Baron's race throve never well,
Where the curse of minstrel fell.
If you love that noble kin,
Take the weary Harper in ! "

" Hark ! Harpool parleys— there is hope,
Said Redmond, "that the gate will ope."-
— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow,
Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow,"
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side
She roamed, and Rokeby forest wide;
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast
To Richmond's friars to make a feast.
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale,
That well could strike with sword amain,
And of the valiant son of Spain,
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph;
There were a gest to make us laugh !
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed
Thou'si won thy supper and thy bed." —

Matilda smiled; " Cold hope," said she,
" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy !
But, for this Harper, may we dare,
Redmond, to mend his couch and fare 1 '
— " 0 ask not me ! at minstrel string
My heart from infancy would spring ;
Nor can I hear its simplest strain,
But it brings Erin's dream again,
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee,
(The Filea of O'Neale was he,
A blind and bearded man, whose eld
Was sacred as a prophet's held,)

394 ROKEBY. {Canto V

I've seen a ring of rugged kerne,
With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern,
Enchanted by the master's lay,
Linger around the live-long day,
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee,
To love, to grief, to ecstasy,
Arid feel each varied change of soul
Obedient to the bard's control. —
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more;
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze,
Tell maiden's love, or heroes praise !
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth,
Centre of hospitable mirth;
All undistinguished in the glade,
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid,
Their vassab wander wide and far,
Serve foreign lords in distant war,
And now the stranger's sons enjoy
The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! " — ■
He spoke, and proudly turned aside,
The starting tear to dry and hide.

Matilda's dark and softened eye

Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry.

Her hand upon his arm she laid, —

" It is the will of Heaven," she said.

" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part

From this loved home with lightsome heart,

Leaving to wild neglect whate'er

Even from my infancy was dear ]

For in this calm domestic bound

Were all Matilda's pleasures found.

That hearth, my sire was wont to grace,

Full soon may be a stranger's place;

This hall, in which a child I played.

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid,

The bramble and the thorn may braid ;

Or, passed for aye from me and mine,

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line.

Yet is this consolation given,

My Redmond, — 'tis the will of Heaven." —

Her word, her action, and her phrase,

Were kindly as in early days;

For cold reserve had lost its power,

In sorrow's sympathetic hour.

Young Redmond dared not trust his voice;

But lather had it been his choice

To share that melancholy hour.

Than, armed with all a chieftain's power,

In full possession to enjoy

Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy.

Canto V.] ROKEBY. 395

XII.

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ;

Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. —

" Happy in friendship's ready aid,

Let all my murmurs here be staid !

And Rokeby's maiden will not part

From Rokeby's hall with moody heart.

This night, at least, for Rokeby's fame

The hospitable hearth shall flame,

And, ere its native heir retire,

Find for the wanderer rest and fire,

While this poor Harper, by the blaze,

Recounts the tale of other days.

Bid Harpool ope the door with speed,

Admit him, and relieve each need. —

Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try

Thy minstrel skill ) — nay, no reply —

And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought;

Thy verse with laurels would be bought,

And poor Matilda, landless now,

Has not a garland for thy brow.

True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades,

Nor wander more in Greta shades;

Eut sure, no rigid jailer, thou

Wilt a short prison-walk allow,

Where summer flowers grow wild at will,

On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ;

Then holly green and lily gay

Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." —

The mournful youth, a space aside,

To tune Matilda's harp applied ;

And then a low sad descant rung,

As prelude to the lay be sung.

£ be Cgpress SStreaffj.

O Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree !
Too lively glow the lilies light,
The varnished holly's all too bright,
The May-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than mine;
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me,
Or weave it of the cypress-tree !

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine
With tendrils of the laughing vine;
The manly oak, the pensive yew,
To patriot and to sage be due;
The myrtle bough bids lovers live,
But that Matilda will not give;
Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree !

S9G ROKEBT. [Canto Y

Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses, bought so dear;
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue
With heath and hare- bell dipped in dew;
On favoured Erin's crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald green —
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. .

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ;
. And, while his crown of laurel leaves
With bloody hand the victor weaves,
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ;
Bat when you hear the passing-bell,
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me,
And twine it of the cypress-tree.

Yes ! twine for me the cypress bough ;
But, 0 Matilda, twine not now !
Stay till a few brief months are past,
And I have looked and loved my last. !
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, —
Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me,
And weave it of the cypress-tree.

O'Neale observed the starting tear,

And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer —

" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day

When mourns the land thy silent lay,

Shall many a wreath be freely wove

By hand of friendship and of love.

I would not wish that rigid Fate

Had doomed thee to a captive's state,

Whose hands are bound by honour's law,

Who wears a sword he must not draw;

But were it so, in minstrel pride

The land together would we ride,

On prancing steeds, like Harpers old,

Bound for the halls of barons bold.

Each lover of the lyre we'd seek,

From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's peak,

Survey wild Albin's mountain strand,

And roam green Erin's lovely land,

While thou the gentler souls should move,

With lay of pity and of love,

And I, thy mate, in rougher strain,

Would sing of war and warriors slain.

Old England's bards were vanquished then,

And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden,

And, silenced on Iernian shore,

M'Curtin's harp should charm no more ! " —

In lively mood he spoke, to wile

From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile.

Canto V.I UOKEBY. 397

" But," said Matilda, "ere tliy name,

Good Redmond, gain its destined fame,

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call

Thy brother minstrel to the hall ]

Bid all the household, too, attend,

Each in his rank a humble friend;

I know their faithful hearts will grieve,

When their poor mistress takes her leave;

So let the horn and beaker flow

To mitigate their parting woe." —

The Harper came : — in youth's first prime

Himself; ia mode of olden time

His garb was fashioned, to express

The ancient English minstrel's dress,

A seemly gown of Kendal green,

With gorget closed of silver sheen ;

His harp in silken scarf was slung,

And by his side an anlace hung.

It seemed some masquer's quaint array,

For revel or for holiday.

He made obeisance, with a free
Yet studied air of courtesy.
Each look and accent, framed to please,
Seemed to affect a playful ease ;
His face was of that doubtful kind,
That wins the eye, but not the mind ;
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss
Of brow so young and smooth as this.
His was the subtle look and sly,
That, spying all, seems nought to spy;
Round all the group his glances stole,
Unmarked themselves, to mark the whole,
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look,
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook.
To the suspicious, or the old,
•Subtle and dangerous and bold
Had seemed this self-invited guest ;
But young our lovers, — and the rest,
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear
At parting of their mistress dear,
Tear-blinded to the castle hall
Came as to bear her funeral pall.

All that expression base was gone,

When waked the guest his minstrel tone;

It fled at inspiration's call,

As erst the Daemon fled from Saul.

More noble glance he cast around,

More free-drawn breath inspired the sound,

398 ROKEBY. [Cwnto V.

His pulse beat bolder and more high,

In all the pride of minstrelsy !

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er,

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar !

His soul resumed, with habit's chain,

Its vices wild and follies vain,

And gave the talent, with him born,

To be a common curse and scorn.

Such was the youth whom Rokeby's maid,

With condescending kindness, prayed

Here to renew the strain she loved,

At distance heard and well approved.

i>fftt0.

THE HARP.

I was a wild and wayward boy,

My childhood scorned each childish toy;

Retired from all, reserved and coy,

To musing prone,
I wooed my solitary joy,

My Harp alone.

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood,
Despised the humble stream and wood
Where my poor father's cottage stood,

To fame unknown; —
What should my soaring views make good 1

My Harp alone.

Love came with all his frantic fire,
And wild romance of vain desire;
The Baron's daughter heard my lyre,

And praised the tone; —
What could presumptuous hope inspire ?

My Harp alone.

At Manhood's touch the bubble burst,
And Manhood's pride the vision curst,
And all that had my folly nursed

Love's sway to own ;
Yet spared the spell that lulled me first,

My Harp alone.

Woe came with war, and want with woe ;
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel foe : —

Can aught atone
My fields made waste, my cot laid low]

My Harp alone !

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart,
Have rued of penury the smart,

Canto T.] ROKEBT. 399

Have felt of love the venomed dart

When hope was flown ;
Yet rests one solace to my heart, —

My Harp alone !

Then, over mountain, moor, and bill,
My faithful harp, I'll bear thee still ;
And when this life of want and ill

Is well-nigh gone,
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill,

My Harp alone !

" A pleasing lay ! " Matilda said,

But Harpool shook his old grey head,

And took his baton and his torch,

To seek bis guard-room in the porch.

Edmund observed — with sudden change,

Among the strings his fingess range,

Until they waked a bolder glee

Of military melody;

Then paused amid the martial sound,

And looked with well feigned fear around ; —

" None to this noble house belong,"

He said, " that would a minstrel wrong,

Whose fate has been, through good and ill,

To love his Royal Master still,

And, with your honoured leave, would fain

Rejoice you with a loyal strain." —

Then, as assured by sign and look,

The warlike tone again he took ;

And Harpool stopped, and turned to hear

A ditty of the Cavalier.

Swmg.

TH« CAVALIER.

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey,

My True Love has mounted his steed and away,

Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er down ;

Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown !

He has doffed the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear,
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair,
From his belt to his stirrup his broad-sword bangs down,—
Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown !

For the rights of fair England that broad-sword he draws,

Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ;

His watch-word is honour, his pay is renown, —

God strike with the gallant that strikes for the Crown !

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all
The round-headed rebels of Westminster Hall ;

400 ROKEBT. [Canto F

But tell those bold traitors of London's proud town,
That the spears of the North-have encircled the Crown.

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ;
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose !
Would you, match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown,
With the Barons of England that fight for the Crown?

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier !

Be his banner unconquered, resistless his spear,

Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown,

In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown 1

*' Alas ! " Matilda said, " that strain,
Good Harper, now is heard in vain !
The time has been, at such a sound,
When Rokebj's vassals gathered round,
An hundred manly hearts would bound ;
But now, the stirring verse we hear,
Like trump in dying soldier's ear!
Listless and sad the notes we own,
The power to answer them is flown.
Yet not without his meet applause
Be he that sings the rightful cause,
Even when the crisis of its fate
To human eye seems desperate.
While Rokeby's heir such power retains,
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : —
And, lend thy harp; I fain would try,
If my poor skill can aught supply,
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall,
To mourn the cause in which we fall."

The Harper, with a downcast look
And trembling hand, her bounty took.
As yet, the conscious pride of art
Had steeled him in his treacherous part ;
A powerful spring, of force unguessed,
That hath each gentler mood suppressed,
And reigned in many a human breast,
From his that plans the red campaign,
To his that wastes the woodland reign.
The failing wing, the bloodshot eye,
The sportsman marks with apathy,
Each feeling of his victim's ill
Drowned in his own successful skill.
The veteran, too, who now no more
Aspires to head the battle's roar,
Loves still the triumph of his art,
And traces on the pencilled chart
Some stern invader's destined way,
Through blood and ruin, to his prey;

Canto 7] ROKJSBY. 401

Patriots to death, and towns to flame,

He dooms, to raise another's name,

And shares the guilt though not the fame.

What pays him for his span of time

Spent in premeditating crime ?

Vt hat against pity arms his heart ] —

It is the conscious pride of art.

But principles in Edmund's mind
Were baseless, vague, and undefined.
His soul, like bark with rudder lost,
On passion's changeful tide was t«st ;
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power
Beyond the impression of the hour ;
And 0 ! when passion rules, how rare
The hours that fall to Virtue's share !
Yet now she roused her— for the pride,
That lack of sterner guilt supplied,
Could scarce support him when arose
The lay that mourned Matilda's woes.

J?ong.

THE FAREWELL.

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear,

They mingle with the song ;
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, "

I must not hear thein long.
From every loved and native haunt

The native heir must stray.
And, like a ghost whom sun-beams daunt,

Must part before the day.

Soon from the halls my fathers reared,

Their scutcheons may descend ;
A line so long beloved and feared

May soon obscurely end.
No longer here Matilda's tone

Shall bid these echoes swell ;
Yet shall they hear her proudly own

The cause in which we fell.

The Lady paused, and then again
Resumed the lay in loftier strain.

XXIV.

Let our halls and towers decay,
Be our name and line forgot,

Lands and manors pass away, —
We but share our monarch's lot.

If no more our annals show-
Battles won and banners taken,

Still in death, defeat, and woe,
Ours be loyalty unshaken !

26

402 ROKEBY. [Canto V

Constant still in danger's hour,

Princes owned our fathers' aid ;
Lands and honours, wealth and power,

Well their loyalty repaid.
Perish wealth, and power, and pride !

Mortal boons by mortals given ;
But let Constancy abide,

Constancy's the gift of Heaven.

While thus Matilda's lay was heard,

A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirred.

[n peasant life he might have known

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ;

But village notes could ne'er supply

That rich and varied melody,

And ne'er in cottage maid was seen

The easy dignity of mien,

Claiming respect yet waving state,

That marks the daughters of the great.

Yet not, perchance, had these alone

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown ;

But, while her energy of mind

Superior rose to griefs combined,

Lending its kindling to her eye,

Giving her form new majesty, —

To Edmund's thought Matilda seemed

The very object he had dreamed,

When, long ere guilt his soul had known,

In Winston bowers he mused alone,

Taxing his fancy to combine

The face, the air, the voice divine,

Of princess fair by cruel fate

Reft of her honours, power, and state,

Till to her rightful realm restored

By destined hero's conquering sword.

" Such was my vision ! " Edmund thought ;
" And have I, then, the ruin wrought
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision formed her peer ?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes ?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith, —
Their kindest mercy sudden death !
Have I done this ? I ! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,
I would have traced its circle broad,
To kiss the ground on which she trod !—
And now — 6 ! would" that earth would rive,
And close upon me while alive ! —
Is there no hope ? is all then lost I—
Bertram's already on his post !

Canto V.] ROKEBY. 403

Ev'n nosv, beside the hall's arched door,

I saw his shadow cross the floor !

He was to wait my signal strain —

A little respite thus we gain :

By what I heard the menials say,

Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way —

Alarm precipitates the crime !

My harp must wear away the time." —

And then, in accents faint and low,

He faltered forth a tale of woe.

gitltetr.

" And whither would you lead me then |"
Quoth the Friar of orders grey ;

And the ruffians twain replied again,
" By a dying woman to pray." —

" I see," he said, "a lovely sight,

A sight bodes little harm,
A lady as a lily bright,

With an infant on her arm." —

" Then do thine office, Friar grey,
And see thou shrive her free !

Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night,
Fling all its guilt on thee.

" Let mass be said, and trentrals read,

When thou'rt to convent gone,
And bid the bell of St. Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone." —

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,

Blindfolded as he came —
Next morning, all in Littlecot-hall

Were weeping for their dame.

Wild Darrell is an altered man,

The village crones can teil ;
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray,

If he hears the convent bell.

If prince or peer cross Dan-ell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride —

If he meet a Friar of orders grey,
He droops and turns aside.

XXVIII.

" Harper ! methinks thy magic lays,"
Matilda said, " can goblins raise !
Well-nigh my fancy can discern,
Near the dark porch, a visage stern ;

404 ROEEBY. [Canto V

E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook

I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! —

A human form distinct and clear —

God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near ! " —

She saw too true. Stride after stride,

The centre of that chamber wide

Fierce Bertram gained ; then made a stand,

And, proudly waving with his hand,

Thundered — " Be still, upon your lives !

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." —

Behind their chief, the robber crew

Forth from the darkened portal drew,

In silence — save that echo dread

Returned their heavy measured tread.

The lamp's uncertain lustre gave

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ;

File after file in order pass,

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.

Then, halting at their leader's sign,

At once they formed and curved their line,

.Hemming within its crescent drear

Their victims, like a herd of deer.

Another sign, and to the aim

Levelled at once their musquets came,

As waiting but their chieftain's word

To make their fatal volley heard.

Back in a heap the menials drew,

Yet, even in mortal terror, true,

Their pale and startled group oppose

Between Matilda and the foes.

" 0 haste thee, Wilfrid ! " Redmond cried ;

" Undo that wicket by thy side !

Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood —

The pass may be a while made good —

Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh —

0 speak not — dally not — but fly !" —
While yet the crowd their motions hide,
Through the low wicket-door they glide.
Through vaulted passages they wind,
In Gothic intricacy twined ;

Wilfrid half led, and half he bore,

Matilda to the postern door,

And safe beneath the f crest tree

The lady stands at liberty.

The moon-beams, the fresh gale's caress,

Renewed suspended consciousness : —

'' Where's Redmond 1 " eagerly she crier? :

" Thou answer'st not— he dies ! he dies !

And thou hast left him, all bereft

Of mortal aid- — with murderers left ! —

1 know it well — he would not yield
His sword to man— his doom is sealed !

Canto KJ ROKEBY. 405

For my scorned life, which thou hast bought
At price of his, I thank thee not." —

The unjust reproach, the angry look,

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook.

" Lady," he said, "my band so near,

In safety thou may'st rest thee here.

For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn,

If mine can buy his safe return." —

He turned away — his heart throbbed high,

The tear was bursting from his eye,

The sense of her injustice pressed

Upon the maid's distracted breast, —

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain ! " —

He heard, but turned him not again ;

He reaches now the postern door,

Now enters— and is seen no more.

With all the agony that e'er
Was gendered 'twixt suspense and fear,
She watched the line of windows tall
Whose Gothic lattice lights the hall,
Distinguished by the paly red
The lamps in dim reflection shed,
While all beside in wan moon-light
Each grated casement glimmered white.
No sight of harm, no sound of ill,
It is a deep and midnight still.
Who looked upon the scene had guessed
All in the castle were at rest :
When sudden on the windows shone
A lightning flash, just seen and gone !
A shot is heard — Again the flame
Flashed thick and fast — a volley came !
Then echoed wildly, from within,
Of shout and scream the mingled din,
And weapon-clash, and maddening cry
Of those who kill, and those who die !
As filled the hall with sulphurous smoke.
More red, more dark, the death-flash broke,
And forms were on the lattice cast,
That struck, or struggled, as they passed.

What sounds upon the midnight wind
Approach so rapidly behind ]
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds !
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds,
Seizes upon the leader's rein —
" 0 haste to aid, ere aid be vain !
Fly to the postern — gain the hall !" —
• From saddle spring the troopers all ;

40f) ROKEBY. [Canto V

Their gallant steeds, at liberty,
Run wild along the moon-light lea.
But, ere they burst upon the scene,
Full stubborn had the conflict been.
When Bertram marked Matilda's flight,
It gave the signal for the fight ;
And Rokeby's veterans, seamed with scars
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars,
Their momentary panic o'er,
Stood to the arms which then they bore ;
(For they were weaponed, and prepared
Their mistress on her way to guard.)
Then cheered them to the fight O'Neale,
Then pealed the shot, and clashed the steel ;
The war-smoke soon with sable breath
Darkened the scene of blood and death,
While on the few defenders close
The Bandits with redoubled blows,
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell
Renew the charge with frantic yell.

Wilfrid has fallen — but o'er him stood

Young Redmond, soiled with smoke and blood,

Cheering his mates, with heart and hand

Still to make good their desperate stand.

" Up, comrades, up ! in Rokeby halls

Ne'er be it said our courage falls.

What ! faint ye for their savage cry,

Or do the smoke- wreaths daunt your eye ?

These rafters have returned a shout

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout;

As thick a smoke these hearths have given

At Hallowtide or Christmas even.

Stand to it yet ! renew the fight,

For Rokeby's and Matilda's right !

These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand,

Bide buffet from a true man's brand." —

Impetuous, active, fierce, and young,

Upon the advancing foes he sprung.

Woe to the wretch at whom is bent

His brandished falchion's sheer descent !

Backward they scattered as he came,

Like wolves before the levin flame,

When, 'mid their howling conclave driven,

Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven.

Bertram rushed on — but Harpool clasped

His knees, although in death he gasped,

His falling corpse before him flung,

And round the trammelled ruffian clung.

Just then, the soldiers filled the dome,

And, shouting, charged the felons home

So fiercely, that, in panic dread,

They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.

Canto V.]

ROKEBY. 407

Bertram's stern voice they heed no more,
Though heard above the battle's roar,
While, trampling down the dying man,
He strove, with volley 'd threat and ban,
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite,
To rally up the desperate fight.

Soon murkier clouds the hall infold
Than e'er from battle-thunders rolled ;
So dense, the combatants scarce know
To aim or to avoid the blow.
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight —
But soon shall dawn a dismal light !
'Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came
The hollow sound of rushing flame ;
New horrors on the tumult dire
Arise — the castle is on fire !
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand,
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand.
Matilda saw — for frequent broke
From the dim casements gusts of smoke.
Yon tower, which late so clear defined
On the fair hemisphere reclined,
That, pencilled on its azure pure,
The eye could count each embrazure,
Now, "swathed within the sweeping cloud,
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ;
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light,
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright,
And, gathering to united glare,
Streams high into the midnight air ;
A dismal beacon, far and wide
That wakened Greta's slumbering side.
Soon all beneath, through gallery long,
And pendent arch, the fire flashed strong,
Snatching whatever could maintain,
Raise, or extend, its furious reign,
Startling, with closer cause of dread,
The females who the conflict fled,
And now rushed forth upon the plain.
Filling the air with clamours vain

XXXV.

But ceased not yet, the hall within,

The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,

Till bursting lattices give proof

The flames have caught the raftered roof.

What ! wait they till its beams amain

Crash on the slayers and the slain ?

The alarm is caught— the draw-bridge falls,

The warriors hurry from the walls,

But, by the conflagration's light,

Upon the lawn renew the fight.

408 ROKEBY. [Canto 7.

Each straggling felon down was hewed,
Not one could gain the sheltering wood ;
But forth the affrighted Harper sprung,
And to Matilda's robe he clung.
Her shriek, entreaty, and command,
Stopped' the pursuer's lifted hand.
Denzil and he alive were ta'en ;
The rest, save Bertram, all are slain.

And where is Bertram] — Soaring high,
The general flame ascends the sky ;
In gathered group the soldiers gaze
Upon the broad and roaring blaze,
When, like infernal daemon, sent
Red from his penal element,
To plague and to pollute the air,—
His face all gore, on fire his hair,
Forth from the central mass of smoke
The giant form of Bertram broke !
His brandished sword on high he rears,
Then plunged among opposing spears ;
Round his left arm his mantle trussed,
Received and foiled three lances' thrust ;
Nor these his headlong course withstood, —
Like reeds he snapped the tough ash wood.
In vain his foes around him clung;
With matchless force aside he flung
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay,
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way.
Through forty foes his path he made,
And safely gained the forest glade.

Scarce was this final conflict o'er,
When from the postern Redmond bore
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft,
Had in the fatal hall been left,
Deserted there by all his train ;
But Redmond saw, and turned again. —
Beneath an oak he laid him down,
That in the blaze gleamed ruddy brown,
And then his mantle's clasp undid ;
Matilda held his drooping head,_
Till, given to breathe the freer air,
Returning life repaid their care.
He gazed on them with heavy sigh, —
" I could have wished even thus to die ! "
No more he said— for now with speed
Each trooper had regained his steed ;
The ready palfreys stood arrayed,
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ;
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain,
One leads his charger by the rein.

Canto TV.] ROKEBT. 409

But oft Matilda looked behind,
As up the Tale of Tees they wind,
Where far the mansion of her sires
Beaconed the dale with midnight fires.
In gloomy arch above them spread,
The clouded heaven lowered bloody red ;
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood
Appeared to roll in waves of blood.
Then, one by one, was heard to fall
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall.
Each rushing down with thunder sound,
A space the conflagration drowned ;
Till, gathering strength, again it rose,
Announced its triumph in its close,
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er,
Then sunk— and Rokeby was no more I

CANTO SIXTH.

The summer sun, whose early power
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower,
And rouse her with his matin ray
Her duteous orisons to pay,
That morning sun has three times seen
The flowers unfold on Rokeb'y green,
But sees no more the slumbers fly
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ;
That morning sun has three times broke
On Kokeby's glades of elm and oak,
But, rising from their sylvan screen,
Marks no grey turrets glance between.
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower,
That, hissing to the morning shower,
Can but with smouldering vapour pay
The early smile of summer day.
The peasant, to his labour bound,
Pauses to view the blackened mound,
Striving, amid the ruined space,
Each well-remembered spot to trace.
That length of frail and fire-scorched wall
Once screened the hospitable hall;
^Yhen yonder broken arch was whole,
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole;
And where yon tottering columns nod,
The chapel sent the hymn to God.
So flits the world's uncertain span !
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man,
Gives mortal monuments a date
Beyond the power of Time and Fate.
The towers must share the builder's doom ;
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb :

410 ROKEBT. [Canto VI.

But better boon benignant Heaven
To Faith and Charity has given, _
And bids the Christian hope sublime^
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time.

Now the third night of summer came,

Since that which witnessed Rokeby's flame.

On Brignal cliffs and Scargill brake

The owlet's homilies awake,

The bittern screamed from rush and flag,

The raven slumbered on his crag,

Forth from his den the otter drew, —

Grayling and trout their tyrant knew,

As between reed and sedge he peers,

With fierce round snout and sharpened ears,

Or, prowling by the moon-beam cool,

Watches the stream or swims the pool; —

Perched on his wonted eyrie high,

Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye,

That all the day had watched so well

The cushat dart across the dell.

In dubious beam reflected shone

That lofty cliff of pale grey stone,

Beside whose base the secret cave

To rapine late a refuge gave.

The crag's wild crest of copse and yew

On Greta's breast dark shadows threw;

Shadows that met or shunned the sight,

With every change of fitful light ;

As hope and fear alternate chase

Our course through life's uncertain race.

Gliding by crag and copse-wood green,
A solitary Form was seen
To trace with stealthy pace the wold.
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold,
And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed,
At every breath that stirs the shade.
He passes now the ivy bush, —
The owl has seen him and is hush;
He passes now the doddered oak, —
Ye heard the startled raven croak ;
Lower and lower he descends,
Bustle the leaves, the brush-wood bends ;
The otter hears him tread the shore,
And dives, and is beheld no more;
And by the cliff of pale grey stone
The midnight wanderer stands alone.
Methinks, that by the moon we trace
A well-remembered form and face !
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale,
Combine to tell a rueful tale,

Canto VI.] ROKEBY. 411

Of powers misused, of passion's force,
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse !
"lis Edmund's eye, at every sound
That flings that guilty glance around ;
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides
The brush- wood that the cavern hides,
And, when its narrow porch lies bare,
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there.

His flint and steel have sparkled bright,
A lamp hath lent the cavern light.
Fearful and quick his eye surveys
Each angle of the gloomy maze.
Since last he left that stern abode,
It seemed as none its floor had trode ;
Untouched appeared the various spoil,
The purchase of his comrades' toil ;
Masques and disguises grimed with mud,
Anns broken and defiled with blood,
And all the nameless tools that aid
Night-felons in their lawless trade,
Upon the gloomy walls were hung,
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.
Still on the sordid board appear
The relics of the noontide cheer ;
Flagons and emptied flasks were there,
And bench o'erthrown, and shattered chair ;
And all around the semblance showed,
As when the final revel glowed,
When the red sun wa3 setting fast,
And parting pledge Guy Denzil passed.
To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! they quaffed,
And shouted loud and wildly laughed,
Poured maddening from the rocky door,
And parted — to return no more !
They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,—
A bloody death, a burning tomb.

There his own peasant dress he spies,
Doffed to assume that quaint disguise,
And shuddering thought upon bis glee,
When pranked in garb of minstrelsy.
" 0 be the fatal art accurst,"
lie cried, "that moved my folly first,
Till, bribed by bandits' base applause,
I burst through God's and Nature's laws !
Three summer days are scantly past
Since I have trod this cavern last,
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err-
But, oh, as yet no murderer!
Even now I list my comrades' cheer,
That general laugh is in mine ear,

412 ROKEBT. [Canto VI.

Which raised my pulse and steeled rny heart,

As I rehearsed my treacherous part —

And would that all since then could seem

The phantom of a fever's dream !

But fatal Memory notes too well

The horrors of the dying yell,

From my despairing mates that broke,

When flashed the fire and rolled the smoke,

When the avengers shouting came,

And hemmed us 'twixt the sword and flame !

My frantic fright, — the lifted brand —

That angel's interposing hand !

If for my life from slaughter freed,
I yet could pay some grateful meed!
Perchance this object of my quest
May aid" — he turned, nor spoke the rest.

Due northward from the rugged hearth,

With paces five he metes the earth,

Then toiled with mattock to explore

The entrails of the cavern floor,

Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground,

His search a small steel casket found. ■

Just as he stooped to loose its hasp,

His shoulder felt a giant grasp ;

He started, and looked up aghast,

Then shrieked — 'twas Bertram held him fast!

" Fear not ! " he said ; but who could hear

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear 1

" Fear not ! — by Heaven he shakes as much

As partridge in the falcon's clutch ! " —

He raised him, and unloosed his hold,

While from the opening casket rolled

A chain and reliquaire of gold.

Bertram beheld it with surprise,

Gazed on its fashion and device,

Then, cheering Edmund as he could,

Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood ;

For still the youth's half-lifted eye

Quivered with terror's agony,

And sidelong glanced, as to explore,

In meditated flight, the door.

" Sit," Bertram said, "from danger free ;

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee.

Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain

I've sought for refuge-place in vain.

And tell me now, thou aguish boy,

What makest thou here ] what means this toy ?

Denzil aud thou, I marked, were ta'en ;

What lucky chance unbound your chain ?

I deemed, iong since on Baliol's tower

Your heads were warped with sun and shower.

Tell me the whole — and mark ! nought e'er

Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear."—

Canto V7.1 KOKEBT. 413

Gathering his courage to his aid,
But trembling still, the youth obeyed.

" Denzil and I two nights passed o'er,

In fetters on the dungeon floor.

A guest the third sad morrow brought ;

Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought,

And eyed my comrade long askance,

With fixed and penetrating glance.

' Guy Denzil art thou called V — ' The same.'-

' At court who served wild Buckinghame ;

Thence banished, won a keeper's place,

So Villiers willed, in Marwood-chase ;

That lost — I need not tell thee why —

Thou madcst thy wit thy wants supply,

Then fought for Rokeby :— have I guessed

My prisoner right 1 ' — ' At thy behest.' —

He paused a while, and then went on

With low and confidential tone ;

Me, as I judge, not then he saw,

Close nestled in my couch of straw. —

' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great

Have frequent need of what they hate ;

Hence, in their favour oft we see

Unscrupled, useful men like thee.

Were I disposed to bid thee live,

What pledge of faith hast thou to give ] ' —

" The ready fiend, who never yet

Hath failed to sharpen DenziTs wit.

Prompted his lie — ' His only child

Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled,

And turned to me — ' Thou art his son ] '

I bowed — our fetters were undone,

And we were led to hear apart

A dreadful lesson of his art.

Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son,

Had fair Matilda's favour won ;

And long since had their union been,

But for her father's bigot spleen,

Whose brute and blindfold party-rage

Would, force per force, her hand engage

To a base kern of Irish earth,

Unknown his lineage and his birth,

Save that a dying ruffian bore

The infant brat to Rokeby door.

Gentle restraint, he said, would lead

Old Kokeby to enlarge his creed ;

But fair occasion he must find

For such restraint well-meant and kind,

The knight being rendered to his charge

But as a prisoner at large.

414 ROKEBY. LCanto VI

" He schooled us in a well-forged tale,

Of scheme the castle walls to scale,

To which was leagued each cavalier,

That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear ;

That Rokeby, his parole forgot,

Had dealt with us to aid the plot.

Such was the charge, which Denzil's zeal

Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale

Proffered, as witness, to make good,

Even though the forfeit were their blood.

I scrupled, until o'er and o'er

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ;

And then — alas ! what needs there more 1

I knew I should not live to say

The proffer I refused that day ;

Ashamed to live, yet loath to die,

I soiled me with their infamy ! "

" Poor youth," said Bertram, "wavering still,

Unfit alike for good or ill !

But what fell next1? " — " Soon as at large

Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge,

There never yet, on tragic stage,

Was seen so well a painted rage

As Oswald's showed ! With loud alarm

He called his garrison to arm ;

From tower to tower, from post to post,

He hurried as if all were lost ;

Consigned to dungeon and to chain

The good old knight and all his train,

Warned each suspected cavalier,

Within his limits, to appear

To-morrow, at the hour of noon,

In the high church of Eglistone."

x.

" Of Eglistone ! Even now I passed,"
Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast ;
Torches and cressets gleamed around,
I heard the saw and hammer sound,
And I could mark they toiled to raise
A scaffold, hung with sable baize,
Which the grim headsman's scene displayed,
Block, axe, and saw-dust ready laid.
Some evil deed will there be done,
Unless Matilda wed his son ; —
She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guessed
That Redmond rules the damsel's breast.
This is a turn of Oswald's skill;

But I may meet, and foil him still !

How earnest thou to thy freedom 1" — " There
Lies mystery more dark and rare.
In midst of Wycliffe's well- feigned rage,
A scroll was offered by a page,

Canto 17.] ROKEBY. 415

Who told, a muffled horseman late

Had left it at the castle gate.

He broke the seal — hi3 cheek showed change,

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ;

The mimic passion of his eye

Was turned to actual agony,

His hand like summer sapling shook,

Terror and guilt were in his look.

Denzil he judged, in time of need,

Fit counsellor for evil deed,

And thus apart his counsel broke,

While with a ghastly smile he spoke.

" As in the pageants of the stage,

The dead awake in this wild age,

Mortham — whom all men deemed decreed

In his own deadly snare to bleed,

Slain by a bravo, whom o'er sea,

fie trained to aid in murthering me, —

Mortham has 'scaped; the coward shot

The steed, but harmed the rider nought." —

Here, with an execration fell,

Bertram leaped up, and paced the cell ; —

" Thine own grey head, or bosom dark,"

He muttered, " may be surer mark ! " —

Then sate, and signed to Edmund, pale

With terror, to resume his tale.

" Wycliffe went on : — Mark with what nights

Of wildered reverie he writes :

&Ije gtittx.

" Ruler of Mortham 's destiny !

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee.

Once had he all that binds to life,

A lovely child, a lovelier wife ;

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own —

Thou gavest the word, and they are flown.

Mark how he pays thee : — to thy hand

He yields his honours and his land,

One boon premised ; — Restore his child !

And, from his native land exiled,

Mortham no more returns to claim

His lands, his honours, or his name ;

Refuse him this, and from the slain

Thou shalt see Mortham rise again."—

" This billet while the Earon read,
His faltering accents showed his dread ;
He pressed his forehead with his palm,
Then took a scornful tone and calm ;
' Wild as the winds, as billows wild !
What wot I of his spouse or child 1

416 ROKEBY. [Canto VI.

Hither lie brought a joyous dame,
Unknown her lineage or her name :
Her, in some frantic fit, he slew :
The nurse and child in fear withdrew.
Heaven be my witness, wist I where
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir,—
Unguerdoned, I would give with joy
The father's arms to fold his boy,
And Mortham's lands and towers resign
To the just heir of Mortham's line.' —
ThOu know'st that scarcely e'en his fear
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; —
' Then happy is thy vassal's part,'
He said, ' to ease his patron's heart !
In thine own jailer's watchful care
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir ;
Thy generous wish is fully won, —
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.'—

" Up starting with a frenzied look,

His clenched hand the Baron shook :

' Is hell at work ] or dost thou rave,

Or darest thou palter with me, slave !

Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers

Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.'—

Denzil, who well his safety knew,

Firmly rejoined, ' I tell thee true.

Thy racks could give thee but to know

The proofs, which I, untortured, show. —

It chanced upon a winter night,

When early snow made Stanmore white,

That very night, when first of all

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-haU,

It was my goodly lot to gain

A reliquary and a chain,

Twisted and chased of massive gold.

— Demand not how the prize I hold !

It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. —

Gilt tablets to the chain were hung,

With letters in the Irish tongue.

I hid my spoil, for there was need

That 1 should leave the land with speed ;

Nor then I deemed it safe to bear

On mine own person gems so rare.

Small heed I of the tablets took,

But since have spelled them by the book,

When some sojourn in Erin's land

Of their wild speech had given command.

But darkling was the sense ; the phrase

And language those of other days,

Involved of purpose, as to foil

An interloper's prying toil.

The words, but not the sense, I knew,

Till fortune gave the guiding clue.

Canto VI.] ROKEBY 417

" Three days since was that clue revealed,

In Thorsgill as I lay concealed,

And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid

Her uncle's history displayed ;

And now I can interpret well

Each syllable the tablets tell.

Mark then : Fair Edith was the joy

Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy,

But from her sire and country fled,

In secret Mortham's lord to wed.

O'Neale, his first resentment o'er,

Dispatched his son to Greta's shore,

Enjoining he should make him known

(Until his further will were shown),

To Edith, but to her alone.

What of their ill-starred meeting fell,

Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well.

" O'Neale it was, who, in despair,
Robbed Mortham of his infant heir;
He bred him in their nurture wild,
And called him murdered Connal's child.
Soon died the nurse ; the clan believed
What from their chieftain they received.
His purpose was that ne'er again
The boy should cross the Irish main,
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy.
Then on the land wild troubles came,
And stronger chieftains urged a claim,
And wrested from the old man's hands
His native towers, his fathers' lands.
Unable then, amid the strife,
To guard young Redmond's rights or life,
Late and reluctant he restores
The infant to his native shores,
With goodly gifts and letters stored
With many a deep conjuring word,
To Mortham, and to Rokeby's lord.
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth,
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ;
But deemed his chief's commands were laid
On both, by both to be obeyed.
How he was wounded by the way,
I need not, and I list not say." —

" 'A wondrous tale 1 and grant it true,
What,' Wycliffe answered, ' might I do ?
Heaven knows, as willingly as now
I raise the bonnet from my brow,

27

418 ROKEBT. [Canto Y].,

Would I my kinsman's manors fair

Kestore to Mortham, or his heir ;

But Mortham is distraught— O'Neale

Has drawn for tyranny his steel,

Malignant to our rightful Cause,

And trained in Rome's delusive laws.

Hark thee apart ! ' — They whispered long,

Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong : —

' My proofs ! I never will,' he said,

' Show mortal man where they are laid.

Nor hope discovery to foreclose,

By giving me to feed the crows;

For I have mates at large, who know

Where I am wont such toys to stow.

Free me from peril and from band,

These tablets are at thy command ;

Nor were it hard to form some train

To wile old Mortham o'er the main.

Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand

Should wrest from thine the goodly land.' —

— 'I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, 'well;

But here in hostage shalt thou dwell.

Thy son, unless my purpose err,

May prove the trustier messenger.

A scroll to Mortham shall he bear "*

From me, and fetch these tokens rare.

Gold shalt thou have, and that good store,

And freedom, his commission o'er;

But if his faith should chance to fail,

The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' —

" Meshed in the net himself had twined,
What subterfuge could Denzil find ?
He told me, with reluctant sigh,
That hidden here the tokens lie;
Conjured my swift return and aid,
By all he scoffed and disobeyed,
And looked as if the noose were tied,
And I the priest who left his side.
This scroll for Mortham, Wycliffe gave,
Whom I must seek by Greta's wave,
Or in the hut where chief he hides,
Where Thorsgill's forester resides.
(Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade,
That he descried our ambuscade.)
I was dismissed as evening fell,
And reached but now this rocky cell." —
"Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read,
And tore it fiercely, shred by shred : —
" All lies and villany ! to blind
His noble kinsman's generous mind,
And train him on from day to day,
Till he can take his life awav. — ■

Ccaiio VI.] ROKEBT. 419

A nd now, declare thy purpose, youth,
Nor dare to answer, save the truth ;
If aught I mark of Denzil's art,
I'll tear the secret from thy heart ! "

" It needs not. I renounce," he said,

" My tutor and his deadly trade.

Fixed was my purpose to declare^

To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ;

To tell him in what risk he stands,

And yield these tokens to his hands.

Fixed was my purpose to atone,

Far as I may, the evil done ;

And fixed it rests— if I survive

This night, and leave this cave alive." —

" And Denzil 1 " — " Let them ply the rack,

Even till his joints and sinews crack !

If Oswald tear him limb from limb,

What truth can Denzil claim from him

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray,

And damned to this unhallowed way ]

He schooled me, faith and vows were vain;

Now let my master reap his gain." —

" True," answered Bertram, " 'tis his meed;

There's retribution in the deed.

But thou — thou art not for our course, —

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse;

And he, with us the gale who braves,

Must heave such cargo to the waves,

Or lag with overloaded prore

While barks unburdened reach the shore." —

He paused, and, stretching him at length,
Seemed to repose his bulky strength.
Communing with his secret mind,
As half he sate, and half reclined,
One ample hand his forehead pressed,
And one was dropped across his breast.
The shaggy eye-brows deeper came
Above his eyes of swarthy flame;
His lip of pride a while forbore
The haughty curve till then it wore;
The unaltered fierceness of his look
A shade of darkened sadness took,-
For dark and sad a presage pressed
Eesistlessly on Bertram's breast, —
And when he spoke, his wonted tone,
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone.
His voice was steady, low, and deep,
Like distant waves when breezes sleep ;
And sorrow mixed with Edmund's fear,
Its low unbroken depth to hear.

420 KOKEBT. [Canto VI.

" Edmund, in thy sad tale I find
The woe that warped my patron's mind ;
'Twould wake the fountains of the eye
In other men, but mine are dry.
Mortham must never see the fool
That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool ;
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain,
Than to avenge supposed disdain.
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word,
Till now, from Bertram never heard :
Say, too, that Mortham's lord he prays
To think but on their former days ;
On Quariana's beach and rock,
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock,
On Darien's sands and deadly dew,
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; —
Perchance my patron yet may hear
More that may grace his comrade's bier.
My soul hath felt a secret weight,
A warning of approaching fate :
A priest had said, ' Return, repent ! '
As well to bid that rock be rent.
Firm as that flint I face mine end ;
My heart may burst, but cannot bend.

" The dawning of my youth, with awe
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw;
For over Bedesdale it came,
As bodeful as their beacon-flame.
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine,
When, challenging the clans of Tyne
To bring their Dest my brand to prove,
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove;
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town,
Held champion meet to take it down.
My noontide India may declare ;
Like her fierce Sun, I fired the air !
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly
Her natives, from mine angry eye.
Panama's maids shall long look pale
When Risingham inspires the tale;
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame
The froward child with Bertram's name.
And now, my race of terror run,
Mine be the eve of tropic Sun !
No pale gradations quench his l-ay,
No twilight dews his wrath allay;
With disk like battle-target red,
He rushes to his burning bed,
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light,
Then sinks at once — and all i3 night.

Canto 17.] EOKEBY. 421

" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Ply,
Seek Mortham out, and bid kiro hie
To Richmond, where his troops are laid,
And lead his force to Redmond's aid.
Say, till he reaches Eglistone,
A friend will watch to guard his son.
Now, fare thee well ; for night draws on,
And I would rest me here alone." —
Despite his ill-dissembled fear,
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear;
A tribute to the courage high,
Which stooped not in extremity,
13 ut strove, irregularly great,
To triumph o'er approaching fate !
Bertram beheld the dew-drop start,
It almost touched his iron heart : —
" I did not think there lived," he said,
" One who would tear for Bertram shed.
He loosened then his baldrick's hold,
A buckle broad of massive gold ; —
" Of all the spoil that paid his pains,
But this with Risingham remains;
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take,
And wear it long for Bertram's sake.
Once more — to Mortham speed amain ;
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." —

The night has yielded to the morn,

And far the hours of prime are worn.

Oswald, who, since the dawn of day,

Had cursed his messenger's delay,

Impatient questioned now his train,

" Was Denzil's son returned again ? " —

It chanced there answered of the crew,

A menial, who young Edmund knew;

" No son of Deuzil this." he said ;

" A peasant boy from Winston glade,

For song and minstrelsy renowned,

And knavish pranks, the hamlets round." —

— " Not Denzil's son ! — from Winston vale !-

Then it was false, that specious tale;

Or, worse — he hath dispatched the youth

To show to Mortham 's lord its truth.

Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late; —

This is the very turn of fate ! —

The tale, or true or false, relies

On Denzil's evidence : — He dies !—

— Ho ! Provost martial ! instantly

Lead Denzil to the gallows tree !

Allow him not a parting word ;

Short be the shrift, and sure the cord I

422 ROKEBY. [Canto K

Then let liis gory head appal
Marauders from the castle wall.
Lead forth thy guard., that duty done,
With best despatch to Eglistone.—
— Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight
Attend me at the castle gate." —

" Alas ! " the old domestic said,

And shook his venerable head,

" Alas, my lord ! full ill to-day

May my young master brook the way !

The leech has spoke with grave alarm,

Of unseen hurt, of secret harm,

Of sorrow lurking at the heart,

That mars and lets his healing art." —

— " Tush, tell not me ! — Eomantic boys

Pine themselves sick for airy toys.

I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ;

Bid him for Eglistone be boune,

And quick — I hear the dull death-drum

Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." —

He paused with scornful smile, and then

Eesumed his train of thought agen.

" Now comes my fortune's crisis near !

Entreaty boots not — instant fear,

Nought else, can bend Matilda's pride,

Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride.

But when she sees the scaffold placed,

With axe and block and headsman graced,

And when she deems, that to deny

Dooms Eedmond and her sire to die,

She must give way. — Then, were the line

Of Eokeby once combined with mine,

I gain the weather-gage of fate !

If Mortham come, he comes too late,

While I, allied thus and prepared,

Bid him defiance to his beard. —

— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare

To drop the axe] — soft ! pause we there.

Mortham still lives— yon youth may tell

His tale — and Fairfax loves him well ; —

Else, wherefore should I now delay

To sweep this Eedmond from my way] —

But she to piety perforce

Must yield. — Without there ! Sound to horse.

'Twas bustle in the court below, —

" Mount, and march forward ! " — forth they go;

Steeds neigh and trample all around,

Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound.—

Just then was sung his parting hymn ;

And Denzil turned his eye-balls dim,

Canto TV.] ROKEBT. 423

And scarcely conscious what he sees,
Follows the horsemen down the Tees,
And scarcely conscious what he hears,
The trumpets tingle in his ears.
O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now,
The van is hid by green-wood bough;
But ere the rearward had passed o'er,
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more !
One stroke, upon the castle bell,
To Oswald rung his dying knell.

0 for that pencil, erst profuse
Of chivalry's emblazoned hues,
That traced of old, in Woodstock bower,
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower,
And bodied forth the tourney high,
Held for the hand of Emily !
Then might I paint the tumult broad,
That to the crowded abbey flowed,
And poured, as with an ocean's sound,
Into the church's ample bound !
Then might I show each varying mien,
Exulting, woeful, or serene;
Indifference with his idiot stare,
And Sympathy with anxious air;
Paint the dejected Cavalier,
Doubtful, disarmed, and sad of cheer ;
And his proud foe, whose formal eye
Claimed conquest now and mastery;
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel,
And loudest shouts when lowest lie
Exalted worth and station high.
Yet what may such a wish avail ?
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale,
Hurrying, as best I can, along,
The hearers and the hasty song; —
Like traveller when approaching home,
Who sees the shades of evening come,
And must not now his course delay,
Or choose the fair, but winding way;
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend,
Where o'er his head the wildings bend,
To bless the breeze that cools his brow,
Or snatch a blossom from the bough.

The reverend pile lay wild and waste,
Profaned, dishonoured, and defaced.
Through storied lattices no more
In softened light the sun-beams pour,
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich
Of shrine, and monument, and niche.

424 ROKEBY. [Canto 77.

The Civil fury of the time

Made sport of sacrilegious crime;

For dark Fanaticism rent

Altar, and screen, and ornament,

And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew

Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh.

And now was seen unwonted sight, —

In holy walls a scaffold dight !

Where once the priest, of grace divine

Dealt to his flock the mystic sign,

There stood the block displayed, and there

The headsman grim his hatchet bare;

And for the word of Hope and Faith,

Resounded loud a doom of death.

Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard,

And echoed thrice the herald's word,

Dooming, for breach of martial laws,

And treason to the Commons' cause,

The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale

To stoop their heads to block and steel.

The trumpets flourished high and shrill,

Then was a silence dead and still ;

And silent prayers to heaven were cast,

And stifled sobs were bursting fast,

Till from the crowd began to rise

Murmurs of sorrow or surprise,

And from the distant aisles there came

Deep-muttered threats, with Wycliffe's name.

But Oswald, guarded by his band,

Powerful in evil, waved his hand,

And bade Sedition's voice be dead, >

On peril of the murmurer's head.

Then first his glance sought Rokeby 's Knight ;

Who gazed on the tremendous sight,

As calm as if he came a guest

To kindred Baron's feudal feast, —

As calm as if that trumpet-call

Were summons to the bannered hall ;

Firm in his loyalty he stood,

And prompt to seal it with his blood.

With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, —

He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! —

And said, with low and faltering breath,

" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." —

The Knight then turned, and sternly smiled ;

" The maiden is mine only child,

Yet shall my blessing leave her head,

If with a traitor's son she wed." —

Then Redmond spoke ; " The life of one

Might thy malignity- atone,

On me be flung a double guilt !

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt ! "—

Canl° r/-1 ROKEBY. 425

Wycliffe had listened to his suit,

But dread prevailed, and he was mute.

XXIX.

And now he pours his choice of fear

In secret on Matilda's ear :

" An union formed with me and mine,

Insures the faith of Kokeby's line.

Consent, and all this dread array

Like morning dream shall pass away;

Refuse, and, by my duty pressed,

I give the word — thou know'st the rest." —

Matilda, still and motionless,

With terror heard the dread address,

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies

To hopeless love a sacrifice;

Then wrung her hands in agony,

And round her cast bewildered eye ;

Now on the scaffold glanced, and now

On Wycliffe 's unrelenting brow.

She veiled her face, and, with a voice

Scarce audible,—" I make my choice !

Spare but their lives !— for aught beside,

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide.

He once was generous !"— As she spoke,

Dark Wycliffe 's joy in triumph broke :—

" Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late ? —

Why upon Basil rest thy weight 1 —

Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ) —

Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ;

Thank her with raptures, simple boy !

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy ] "

"0 hush, my sire ! to prayer and tear
Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ;
But now the awful hour draws on,
When truth must speak in loftier tone."—

He took Matilda's hand : — " Dear maid !

Couldst thou so injure me," he said,

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem,

As blend him with this barbarous scheme ?

Alas ! my efforts, made in vain,

Might well have saved this added pain.

But now, bear witness earth and heaven,

That ne'er was h.^pe to mortal given,

So twisted witli tbe strings of life,

As this— to call Matilda wife !

I bid it now for ever part,

And with the effort bursts my heart."—

His feeble frame was worn so low,

With wounds, with watching, and with woe,

That nature could no more sustain

The agony of mental pain.

425 ROKEBY. [OoKto Yl

He kneeled — his lip her hand had pressed,, —
Just then he felt the stern arrest !
Lower and lower sunk his head, —
They raised him, — but the life' was fled !
Then first alarmed, his sire and train
Tried every aid, but tried in vain.
The soul, too soft its ills to bear,
Had left our mortal hemisphere,
And sought in better world the meed,
To blameless life by Heaven decreed.

The wretched sire beheld, aghast,

With Wilfrid all his projects past.

All turned and centred on his son,

On Wilfrid all — and he was gone.

" And I am childless now," he said,

" Childless, through that relentless maid !

A lifetime's arts, in vain essayed,

Are bursting on their artist's head ! —

Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there

Gomes hated Mortham for his heir,

Eager to knit in happy band

With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand.

And shall their triumph soar o'er all

The schemes deep-laid to work their fall ?

No ! — deeds, which prudence might not dare,

Appal not vengeance and despair.

The murderess weeps upon his bier —

I'll change to real that feinged tear !

They all shall share destruction's shock ;—

Ho ! lead the captives to the block !" —

But ill his provost could divine

His feelings, and forbore the sign.

" Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they,

Shall face the judgment-seat this day ! "

The outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ;
Nearer it came, and yet more near, —
The very deaths-men paused to hear.
'Tis in the church-yard now — the tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead !
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone,
Return the tramp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gate-way hung,
When through the Gothic arch there sprung
A Horseman armed, at headlong speed —
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned,
The vaults unwonjed clang returned ! —
One instant's glance around he threw,
From saddle-bow his pistol drew.

Canto VI] ROKEBY. 427

Grimly determined was bis look !
His charger with the spurs he strook —
All scattered backward as he canie^
For all knew Bertram Risingham 1
Three bounds that noble courser gave ;
The first has reached the central nave,
The second cleared the chancel wide,
The third— he was at Wycliffe's side.
Full levelled at the Baron's head,
Rung the report— the bullet sped- —
And to his long account, and last,
Without a groan dark Oswald passed !
All was so quick, that it might seem
A llash of lightning, or a dream.

While yet the smoke the deed conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels ;
But floundered on the pavement floor
The steed, and down the rider bore,
And, bursting in the headlong sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave way.
'Twas while he toiled him to be freed,
And with the rein to raise the steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once.
Sword, halbert, musket-butt, their blows
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ;
A score of pikes, with each a wound,
Bore down and pinned him to the ground ;
But still his struggling force he rears,
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ;
Thrice from assailants shook him free,
Once gained his feet, and twice his knee.
By tenfold odds oppressed at length,
Despite his struggles and his strength,
He took an hundred mortal wounds,
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ;
And when he died, his parting groan
Hatl more of laughter than of moan I
— They gazed, as when a lion dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes,
But bend their weapons on the slain,
Lest the grim king should rouse again !
Then blow and insult some renewed,
And from the trunk the head had hewed,
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : —
" Fell as he was in act and mind,
He left no bolder heart behind :
Then give him, for a soldier meet,
A soldier's cloak for winding sheet." —

428 ROKEBY. [Canto 77.

No more of death and dying pang,

No more of trump and bugle clang,

Though through the sounding woods there come

Banner and bugle, trump and drum.

Armed with such powers as well had freed

Young Redmond at his utmost need,

And backed with such a band of horse,

As might less ample powers enforce;

Possessed of every proof and sign

That gave an heir to Mortham's line,

And yielded to a father's arms

An image of his Edith's charms,—

Mortham is come, to hear and see

Of this strange morn the history.

What saw he 1 — not the church's floor,

Cumbered with dead and stained with gore ;

What heard he 1 — not the clamorous crowd,

That shout their gratulations loud ;

Eedmond he saw and heard alone,

Clasped him, and sobbed, " My son, my son ! " —

This chanced upon a summer morn,

When yellow waved the heavy corn ;

But when brown August o'er the land

Called forth the reapers' busy band,

A gladsome sight the sylvan road

From Eglistone to Mortham showed.

A while the hardy rustic leaves

The task to bind and pile the sheaves,

And maids their sickles fling aside,

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride,

And Childhood's wondering group draws near,

And from the gleaner's hands the ear

Drops, while she folds them for a prayer

And blessing on the lovely pair.

'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ;

And Teesdale can remember yet

How Fate to Virtue paid her debt,

And, for their tixrables, bade them prove

A lengthened life of peace and love.

Time and Tide had thus their sway,
Yielding, like an April day,
Smiling noon for sullen morrow,
Years of joy for hours of sorrow !

THE

LOUD OF THE ISLES.

IN SIX CANTOS.

First published January 2, 1816.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Scene of tins Poem lies, at first, In the Castle of Artornish, on the
coast of Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, In the Islands of Skye and Arran,
and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The
story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been
driven out of Scotland by the English, and the Barons who adhered to
that foreign interest, returned from the Island of Eachrin, on the coast
of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the
personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The
authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well
entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer
of Scottish monarchy; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of
whoso Metrical History of Eobert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear under
the care of my learned friend, the Eev. Dr. Jamieson.

Abbotsfokd, Wth December, 1814.

THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO FIRST.

A tjtuhn departs — but still his mantle's fold

Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropped with gold

Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,

Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill,

And yet some tints of summer splendour tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettricke's western feU.

Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more

Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer;
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,

No more the distant reapers' mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,

And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain;
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,

Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain.

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still,

Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray,
To see the heath-flower withered on the hill,

To listen to the woods' expiring lay,
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way,

And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? —
0 ! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain !

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note
Scarce with the cushat s homely song can vie,

Though faint its beauties as the tints remote

That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky,

432 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Orofo I

And few as leaves that trembl?, sear and dry,
When wild November hath his bugle wound ;

Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I,

Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound,
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,

To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ;
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved,

Still live some reliques of the ancient lay.
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,

With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles,
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,

In Harries known, and in Iona's piles,
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.

" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! " the Minstrels sung

Thy rugged halls, Artornisli ! rung,

And the dark seas, thy towers that lave,

Heaved on the beach a softer wave,

As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep

The diapason of the Deep.

Lulled were the winds on Inninmore,

And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore,

As if wild woods and waves had pleasure

In listing to the lovely measure.

And ne'er to symphony more sweet

Gave mountain echoes answer meet,

Since, met from mainland and from isle,

Ross, Arran, Hay, and Argyle,

Each minstrel's tributary lay

Paid homage to the festal day.

Dull and dishonoured were the bard,

Worthless of guerdon and regard,

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,

Who on that morn's resistless call

Was silent in Artornish halL

" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! " 'twas thus they sung,

And yet more proud the descant rung,

" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours,

To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers;

Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy

But owns the power of minstrelsy.

In Lettermore the timid deer

Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear ;

Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark

Will long pursue the minstrel's bark ;

To list his notes, the eagle proud

Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud;

Then let not Maiden's ear disdain

The summons of the minstrel train,

Canto /.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 433

But, while our harps wild music make,
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake !

" 0 wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine,
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine !
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice
To mate thy melody of voice ;
The dew that on the violet lies
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes;
But, Edith, wake, and all we see
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee ! " —
" She comes not yet," grey Ferrand cried ;
" Brethren, let softer spell be tried,
Those notes prolonged, that soothing theme,
Which best may mix with Beauty's dream,
And whisper, with their silvery tone,
The hope she loves, yet fears to own." —
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died
The strains of flattery and of pride ;
More soft, more low, more tender fell
The lay of love he bade them tell.

" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly

Which yet that maiden-name allow;
Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is nigh,

When Love shall claim a plighted vow.
By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest,

By Hope, that soon shall fears remove,
We bid thee break the bonds of rest,

And wake thee at the call of Love !

" Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay

Lies many a galley gaily manned,
We hear the merry pibrochs play,

We see the streamers' silken band.
What 'Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell,

What crest is on these banners wove,
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell —

The riddle must be read by Love."

Ketired her maiden train among,

Edith of Lorn received the song,

But tamed the Minstrel's pride had been

That had her cold demeanour seen ;

For not upon her cheek awoke

The glow of pride when Flattery spoke,

Nor could their tenderest numbers bring

One sigh responsive to the string.

As vainly had her maidens vied

In skill to deck the princely bride.

Her locks, in dark- brown length arrayed,

Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid ;

28

434 TIIE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto J.

Young Eva with meet reverence drew
On the light foot the silken shoe,
While on the ankle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,
That, bleached Lochryan's depth within,
Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin.
But Einion, of experience old,
Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold
In many an artful plait she tied,
To show the form it seemed to hide,
Till on the floor descending rolled
Its waves of crimson blent with gold.

0 ! lives there now so cold a maid,
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed,
In beauty's proudest pitch of power,
And conquest won — the bridal hour —
With every charm that wins the heart,
By Nature given, enhanced by Art,
Could yet the fair reflection view,
In the bright mirror pictured true,
And not one dimple on her cheek
A tell- tale consciousness bespeak?—
Lives still such maid 1 — Fair damsels, say,
For further vouches not my lay,
Save that such lived in Britain's isle,
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to smile.

But Morag, to whose fostering care

Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair,

Morag, who saw a mother's aid

By all a daughter's love repaid,

(Strict was that bond — most kind of all —

Inviolate in Highland hall — )

Grey Morag sate a space apart,

Iu Edith's eyes to read her heart.

In vain the attendants' fond appeal

To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal;

She marked her child receive their care,

Cold as the image sculptured fair,

(Form of some sainted patroness,)

Which cloistered maids combine to dress;

She marked — and knew her nursling's heart

In the vain pomp took little part.

Wistful a while she gazed — then pressed

The maiden to her anxious breast

In finished loveliness — and led

To where a turret's airy head,

Slender and steep, and battled round,

O'erlookcd, dark Mull ! thy mighty Sound,

Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,

Part thy swarth hills from Morvern's shore.

Canio I.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 435

" Daughter," she said, " these seas behold,
Round twice a hundred islands rolled,
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar,
To the green Hay's fertile shore;
Or mainland turn, where many a tower
Owns thy bold father's feudal power,
Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging
Of Connal with his rocks engaging.
Think'st thou, amid this ample round,
A single brow but thine has frowned,
To sadden this auspicious morn,
That bids the daughter of high Lorn
Impledge her spousal faith to wed
The Heir of mighty Somerled ;
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,
The fair, the valiant, and the young,
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied
On equal terms with England's pride. —
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not ]
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his Beltane fire,
Joy, Joy ! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy, Joy ! each matin bell hath rung :
The holy priest says grateful mass,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,
No mountain den holds outcast boor,
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside,
And claimed this morn for holy-tide ;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,
Edith is sad while all are gay."—

Froud Edith's soul came to her eye,
Resentment checked the struggling sigh,
Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride —
' ' Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, —
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gawds of rare device.

4SG THE LORD OF THE ISLES. \dwio I,

But thou, experienced as thou ai-t,
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,
That, bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return, and looks in vain ]
No ! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words — He loves her not !

" Debate it not — too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn, — while, yet a child,
She tripped the heath by Morag's side,—
The bi-ave Lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
Trained to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ;
Who touched the harp to heroes' praise,
But his achievements swelled the lays 1
Even Morag — not a tale of fame
Was hers but closed with Ronald's name.
He came ! and all that had been told
Of his high worth seemed poor and cold.
Tame, lifeless, void of energy,
Unjust to Ronald and to me !

" Since then, what thought had Edith's heart,

And ga,ve not plighted love its part ! —

And what requital ? cold delay —

Excuse that shunned the spousal day. —

It dawns, and Ronald is not hQre ! —

Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer,

Or loiters he in secret dell

To bid some lighter love farewell,

And swear that though he may not scorn

A daughter of the House of Lorn,

Yet, when these formal rites are o'er,

Again, they meet, to pait no more ] "

— " Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove,

More nobly think of Ronald's love.

Look, where beneath the castle grey

His fleet unmoor from Aros-bay !

Seest not each galley's topmast bend,

As on the yards the sails ascend 1

Hiding the dark-blue land they rise,

Like the white clouds on April skies ;

Canto I.] THE LORD OF TIIE ISLES. 437

The shouting vassals man the oars,
Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores.
Onward their merry course they keep,
Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast,
As if she vailed its bannered pride,
To greet afar her prince's bride !
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed
His galley mates the flying steed,
He chides her sloth ! " — Fair Edith sighed,
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus replied : —

XIII.

" Sweet thought, but vain ! — No, Morag ! mark,

Type of his course, yon lonely bark,

That oft hath shifted helm and sail,

To win its way against the gale.

Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes

Have viewed by fits the course she tries ;

Now, though the darkening scud comes on,

And dawn's fair promises be gone,

And though the weary crew may see

Our sheltering haven on their lee,

Still closer to the rising wind

They strive her shivering sail to bind,

Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge

At every tack her course they urge,

As if they feared Artornish more

Than adverse winds and breakers' roar."

XIV.

Sooth spoke the Maid. — Amid the tide

The skiff she marked lay tossing sore,
And shifted oft her stooping side,
In weary tack from shore to shore.
Yet on her destined course no more

She gained of forward way,
Than what a minstrel may compare
With the poor meed which peasants share,

Who toil the live long day;
And such the risk her pilot braves,

That oft, before she wore,
Her boltsprit kissed the broken waves,
Where in white foam the ocean raves

Upon the shelving shore.
Yet, to their destined purpose true,
Undaunted toiled her hardy crew,

Nor looked where shelter lay,
Nor for Artornish Castle drew,

Nor steered for Aros-bay.

xv.

5 bus while they strove with wind and seas,
.Boruo onward by the willing breeze,
Lord Ronald's fleet swept by,

438 THE LOBD OF THE ISLES. [Ccmio I

Streamered witli silk, and tricked with gold,
Manned with the noble and the bold

Of Island chivalry.
Around their prows the ocean roars,
And chafes beneath their thousand oars,

Yet bears them on their way :
So fumes the war-horse in his might,
That field-ward bears some valiant knight,
Champs till both bit and boss are white,

But, foaming, must obey.
On each gay deck they might behold
Lances of steel and crests of gold,
And hauberks with their burnished fold,

That shimmered fair and free ;
And each proud galley, as she passed,
To the wild cadence of the blast

Gave wilder minstrelsy.
Full many a shrill triumphant note
Saline and Scallastle bade float

Their misty shores around ;
And Morven's echoes answered well,
And Duart heard the distant swell

Come down the darksome Sound.

So bore they on with mirth and pride,
And if that labouring bark they spied,

'Twas with such idle eye
As nobles cast on lowly boor,
When, toiling in his task obscure,

They pass him careless by.
Let them sweep on with heedless eyes !
But, had they known what mighty prize

In that frail vessel lay,
The famished wolf that prowls the wold,
Had scathless passed the unguarded fold,
Ere, drifting by these galleys bold,

Unchallenged were her way !
And thou, Lord Konald, sweep thou on,
With mirth and pride and minstrel tone !
But hadst thou known who sailed so nigh,
Far other glance were in thine eye !
Far other flush were on thy brow,
That, shaded by the bonnet, now
Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer
Of bridegroom when the bride is near !

Yes, sweep they on ! — We will not leave,
For them that triumph, those who grieve.

With that armada gay
Be laughter loud and jocund shout,
And bards to cheer the wassail rout,

With tale, romance, and lay;

Canto /.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 4.39

And of wild inirth each clamorous art,
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart,
May stupify and stun its smart,

For one loud busy day.
Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that skiff

Abides the minstrel tale,
Where there was dread of surge and cliff,
And toil that strained each sinew stiff,

And one sad Maiden's wail.

XVIII.

All day with fruitless strife they toiled,
With eve the ebbing currents boiled

More fierce from strait and lake;
And midway through the channel met
Conflicting tides that foam and fret,
And high their mingled billows jet,
As spears that, in the battle set,

Spring upward as they break.
Then too the lights of eve were past,
And louder sung the western blast

On rocks of Inninmore ;
Rent was the sail, and strained the mast,
And many a leak was gaping fast,
And the pale steersman stood aghast,

And gave the conflict o'er.

'Twas then that One, whose lofty look
Nor labour dulled nor terror shook,

Thus to the Leader spoke :
" Brother, how hopest thou to abide
The fury of this wildered tide,
Or how avoid the rock's rude side,

Until the day has broke]
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel,
With quivering planks and groaning keel,

At the last billow's shock 1
Yet how of better counsel tell,
Though here thou seest poor Isabel

Half dead with want and fear ;
For look on sea, or look on land,
Or yon dark sky, on every hand

Despair and death are near.
For her alone I grieve — on me
Danger sits light by land and sea,

I follow where thou wilt;
Either to bide the tempest's lour,
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower,
Or rush amid their naval power,
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour,

And die with hand on hilt." —

xx.

That elder Leader's calm reply
In steady voice was given,

440 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto I.

" In man's most dark extremity

Oft succour dawns from Heaven.
Edward, trim thou the shattered sail,
The helm be mine, and down the gale

Let our free course be driven ;
So shall we 'scape the western bay,
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray,
So safely hold our vessel's way

Beneath the Castle wall ;
For if a hope of safety rest,
'Tis on the sacred name of guest,
Who seeks for shelter, storm-distressed,

Within a chieftain's hall.
If not — it best beseems our worth,
Our name, our right, our lofty birth,

By noble hands to fall." —

XXI.

The helm, to his strong arm consigned,
Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind,

And on her altered way,
Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship,
Like greyhound starting from the slip

To seize his flying prey.
Awaked before the rushing prow,
The mimic fires of ocean glow,

Those lightnings of the wave ;
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides,
And, flashing round, the vessel's sides

With elvish lustre lave,
While, far behind, their livid light
To the dark billows of the night

A gloomy splendour gave.
It seems as if old Ocean shakes
From his dark brow the livid flakes

In envious pageantry,
To match the meteor light that streaks

Grim Hecla's midnight sky.

XXII.

Nor lacked they steadier light to keep
Their course upon the darkened deep ; —
Artornish, on her frowning steep

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung,
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee,
And landward far, and far to sea,

Her festal radiance flung.
By that blithe beacon4ight they steered,

Whose lustre mingled well
With the pale beam that now appeared,
As the cold Moon her head upreared

Above the eastern Fell.

Thus guided, on their course they bore
Until they neared the mainland shore,

Canto /.] TUE LORD OF THE ISLES. 441

When frequent on the hollow blast
Wild shouts of merriment were cast,
And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry
With wassail sounds in concert vie,
Like funeral shrieks with revelry,

Or like the battle-shout
By peasants heard from cliffs on high,
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony,

Madden the fight and rout.
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm,
Dimly arose the Castle's form,

And deepened shadow made,
Far lengthened on the main below,
Where, dancing in reflected glow,

A hundred torches played,
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in this vale of pain,

That dazzle as they fade.

Beneath the Castle's sheltering lea,
They stayed their course in quiet sea.
Hewn in the rock, a passage there
Sought the dark fortress by a stair

So strait, so high, so steep,
With peasant's staff one valiant hand
Might well the dizzy pass have manned,
'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and
brand,
And plunged them in the deep.
His bugle then the helmsman wound ;
Loud answered every echo round,

From turret, rock, and bay,
The postern's hinges crash and groan,
And soon the warder's cresset shone
On those rude steps of slippery stone,

To light the upward way.
" Thrice welcome, holy Sire !" he said ;
" Full long the spousal train have stayed,

And, vexed at thy delay,
Feared lest, amidst these wildering seas,
The darksome night and freshening breeze
Had driven thy bark astray." —

XXV.

" Warder," the younger stranger said,
" Thine erring guess some mirth had made
In mirthful hour ; but nights like these,
When the rough winds wake western seas,
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid
And needful shelter for this maid

Until the break of day ;
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank
Is easy as the mossy bank

That's breathed upon by May ;

442 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto 1

And for our storm-tossed skiff we seek
Short shelter in this leeward creek,
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak,

Again to bear away. " —
Answered the Warder, " In what name
Assert ye hospitable claim 1,

Whence come, or whither bound ]
Hath Erin seen your parting sails ]
Or come ye on Norweyan gales'?
And seek ye England's fertile vales,

Or Scotland's mountain ground?" —

" Warriors — for other title none
For some brief space we list to own,
Bound by a vow — warriors axe we ;
In strife by land, and storm by sea,

We have been known to fame :
And these brief words have import dear,
When sounded in a noble ear,
To harbour safe, and friendly cheer,

That gives us rightful claim.
Grant us the trivial boon we seek,
And we in other realms will speak

Fair of your courtesy ;
Deny — and be your niggard Hold
Scorned by the noble and the bold,
Shunned by the pilgrim on the wold,

And wanderer on the lea 1 "

" Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim like thine,

No bolt revolves by hand of mine,

Though urged in tone that more expressed

A monarch than a suppliant guest,

Be what ye will, Artornish Hall

On this glad eve is free to all.

Though ye had drawn a hostile sword

'Gainst our great ally, England's Lord,

Or mail upon your shoulders borne,

To battle with the Lord of Lorn,

Or, outlawed, dwelt by greenwood tree

With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie,

Or aided even the murderous strife,

When Comyn fell beneath the knife

Of that fell homicide The Bruce,

This night had been a term of truce. —

Ho, vassals ! give these guest3 your care,

And show the narrow postern stair." —

XXVIII.

To land these two bold brethren leapt,
(The weary crew their vessel kept)
And, lighted by the torches' flare,
That seaward flung their smoky glare,

Canto I.] THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 443

The younger knight that maiden bare

Half lifeless up the rock ;
On his strong shoulder leaned her head,
And down her long dark tresses shed,
As the wild vine, in tendrils spread,

Droops from the mountain oak.
Him followed close that elder lord,
And in his hand a sheathed sword,

Such as few arms could wield;
But when he bound him to such task,
Well could it cleave the strongest casque,

And rend the surest shield.

The raised portcullis' arch they pass,
The wicket with its bars of brass,

The entrance long and low,
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes strait,
Where bowmen might in ambush wait,
(If force or fraud should burst the gate,)

To gall an entering foe.
But every jealous post of ward
Was now defenceless and unbarred,

And all the passage free
To one low-browed and vaulted room,
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom,

Plied their loud revelry.

XXX.

And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade,
" Till to our lord your suit is said. —
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid,
And on these men who ask our aid,

As if ye ne'er had seen
A damsel tired of midnight bark.
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,

And bearing martial mien." —
But not for Eachin's reproof
Would page or vassal stand aloof,

But crowded on to stare,
As men of courtesy untaught,
Till fiery Edward roughly caught,

From one the foremost there,
His chequered plaid, and in its shroud,
To hide her from the vulgar crowd,

Involved his sister fair.
His brother, as the clansman bent
His sullen brow in discontent,

Made brief and stern excuse; —
" Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall
That decks thy lord in bridal haU,

'Twere honoured by her use." —

XXXI.

Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye
Had that compelling dignity,

444 THE LORD QV THE ISLES. [Canto 1L

His mien that bearing haught and high.

Which, common spirits fear;
Needed nor word nor signal more,
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er;
Upon each other back they bore,

And gazed like startled deer.
But now appeared the Seneschal,
Commissioned by his lord to call
The strangers to the Baron's hall,

Where feasted fair and free
That Island Prince in nuptial tide,
With Edith there his lovely bride,
And her bold brother by her side,
And many a chief, the flower and pride

Of Western land and sea.

Here pause we, gentles, for a space;
And, if our tale hath won your grace,
Grant us brief patience, and again
We will renew the minstrel strain.

CANTO SECOND.

Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board !

Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair !
Through the loud hall in joyous concert poured,

Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care !
But ask thou not if happiness be there,

If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe,
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear ;

Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know,
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal wee.

With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay,
With all that olden time deemed gay,
The Island Chieftain feasted high;
But there was in his troubled eye
A gloomy fire, and on his brow
Now sudden flushed, and faded now,
Emotions such as draw their birth
From deeper source than festal mirth.
By fits he paused, and harper's strain
And jester's tale went round in vain,
Or fell but on his idle ear
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,

And call for pledge and lay,
And, for brief space, of all the crowd,
As lie was loudest of the loud,

Seem gayest of the gay.

Canto 11.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 445

Yet nought amiss the bridal throng
Marked in brief mirth, or musing long;
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear,
They gave to thoughts of raptures near,
And his fierce starts of sudden glee
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy.
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd,
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,
And jealous of his honoured line,
And that keen knight, De Argentine,
(Froln England sent on errand high.
The western league more firm tp tie,)
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to find
A lover's transport-troubled mind.
But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery,
And watched, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.

She watched — yet feared to meet his glance,
And he shunned hers; — till when by chance
They met, the point of foeman's lance

Had given a milder pang !
Beneath the intolerable smart
He writhed; — then sternly manned his heart
To play his hard but destined part,

And from the table sprang.
" Fill me the mighty cup ! " he said,
" Erst owned by royal Somerled.
Fill it, till on the studded brim
In burning gold the bubbles swim,
And every gem of varied shine
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine !

To you, brave lord, and brother mine,
Of Lorn, this pledge I drink —

The union of Our House with thine,
By this fair bridal-link ! " —

" Let it pass round ! " quoth He of Lorn,
" And in good time — that winded horn

Must of the Abbot tell;
The laggard monk is come at last." —
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast,
And on the floor at random cast,

The untasted goblet fell.
But when the Warder in his ear
Tells other news, his blither cheer

Returns like sun of May,
When through a thunder-cloud it beams !—
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems

As glad of brief delay,

44-6 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto 11

As some poor criminal might feel,
When from the gibbet or the wheel
Respited for a day.

" Brother of Lorn," with hurried voice
He said, " and you, fair lords, rejoice !

Here, to augment our glee,
Come wandering knights from travel far,
Well proved, they say, in strife of war,

And tempest on the sea. — ■
Ho ! give them at your board such place
As best their presence seems to grace,

And bid them welcome free !" —
With solemn step, and silver wand,
The Seneschal the presence scanned
Of these strange guests ; and well he knew
How to assign their rank its due ;

For, though the costly furs .
That erst had decked their caps were torn,
And their gay robes were over-worn,

And soiled their gilded spurs,
Yet such a high commanding grace
Was in their mien and in their face,
As suited best the princely dais,

And royal canopy ;
And there he marshalled them their place,

First of that company.

Then lords and ladies spake aside,
And angry looks the error chide,
That gave to guests unnamed, unknown,
A place so near their prince's throne;

But Owen Erraught said,
" For forty years a seneschal,
To marshal guests in bower and hall

Has been my honoured trade.
Worship and birth to me are known,
By look, by bearing, and by tone,
Not by furred robe or broidered zone;

And 'gainst an oaken bough
I'll gage my silver wand of state,
That these three strangers oft have sate
In higher place than now." —

" I, too," the aged Ferrand said,
" Am qualified by minstrel trade

Of rank and place to tell ; —
Marked ye the younger stranger's eye,
My mates, how quick, how keen, how highj

How fierce its flashes fell,
Glancing among the festal rout

Canto JJ.} THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 447

As if to seek the noblest out.
Because the owner might not brook
On any save his peers to Jook 1

And yet it moves me more,
That steady, calm, majestic brow,
With which the elder chief even now

Scanned the gay presence o'er,
Like Being of superior kind,
In whose high-toned impartial mind
Degrees of mortal rank and state
Seem objects of indifferent weight.
The lady too — though closely tied

The mantle veil both face and eye,
Her motions' grace it could not hide.

Nor cloud her form's fair symmetry." —

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn
Loured on the haughty front of Lorn.
From underneath his brows of pride,
The stranger guests he sternly eyed,
And whispered closely what the ear
Of Argentine alone might hear ;

Then questioned, high and brief,
If, in their voyage, aught they knew
Of the rebellious Scottish crew,
Who to Rath- Erin's shelter drew,

With Carrick's out-lawed Chief?
And if, their winter's exile o'er,
They harboured still by Ulster's shore,
Or launched their galleys on the main,
To vex their native land again 1

That younger stranger, fierce and high,
At once confronts the Chieftain's eye

With look of equal scorn : —
" Of rebels have we nought to show ;
But if of Koyal Bruce thou'dst know,

I warn thee he has sworn,
Ere thrice three days shall come and go,
His banner Scottish winds shall blow,
Despite each mean or mighty foe,
From England's every bill and bow,

To Allaster of Lorn." —
Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire,
But Ronald quenched the rising fire;
" Brother, it better suits the time
To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme,
Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars
That flow from these unhappy wars." —
" Content," said Lorn; and spoke apart
With Ferrand, master of his art,

Then whispered Argentine, —

448 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto II.

"The lay I named will carry smart
To these bold strangers' haughty heart.

If right this guess of mine." —
He ceased, and it was silence all,
Until the Minstrel waked the hall.

Slje ^raatlj of |Tonr.

" Whence the brooch of burning gold,
That clasps the Chieftain's mantle fold,
Wrought and chased with rare device,
Studded fair with gems of price,
On the varied tartans beaming,
As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming,
Fainter now, now seen afar,
Fitful shines the northern star 1

" Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland mountain,
Did the fairy of the fountain,
Or the mermaid of the wave,
Frame thee in some coral cave 1
Did in Iceland's darksome mine
Dwarf's swarth hands thy metal twine ?
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here,
From England's love, or France's fear?

Huirg rodimub.

" No !— thy splendours nothing tell
Foreign art or faery spell.
Moulded thou for monarch's use,
By the over-weening Bruce,
When the royal robe he tied
O'er a heart of wrath and pride;
Thence in triumph wert thou torn,
By the victor hand of Lorn !

" While the gem was won and lost
Widely was the war-cry tossed !
Bung aloud Bendourish Fell,
Answered Douchart's sounding dell,
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum,
When the homicide, o'ercome,
Hardly 'scaped with scath and scorn,
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn I

Hong tonxlnbcb-.

" Vain was then the Douglas brand,
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand,
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk,
Making sure of murder's work ;

Canto II] TUE LOUD OF THE ISLE3. 4 iO

Barendown fled fast away,

Fled the fiery De la Have,

When this brooch, triumphant borne,

Beamed upon the breast of Lorn.

" Furthest fled its former lord,
Left his men to brand and cord,
Bloody brand of Highland steel,
English gibbet, axe, and wheel.
Let him fly from coast to coast,
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful ghost,
While his spoils, in triumph worn,
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! " —

As glares the tiger on his foes,

Hemmed in by hunters, spears, and bows,

And, ere he bounds upon the ring,

Selects the object of his spring, —

Now on the bard, now on Ms lord,

So Edward glared and grasped his sword —

But stern his brother spoke, — "Be still.

"What ! art thou yet so wild of will,

After high deeds and sufferings long,

To chafe thee for a menial's song?—

Well hast thou framed, Old Man, thy strains,

To praise the hand that pays thy pains ;

Yet something might thy song have told

Of Lorn's three vassals true and bold,

'Who rent their lord from Bruce's hold,

As underneath his knee he lay,

And died to save him in the fray.

I've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp

Was clenched within their dying grasp,

What time a hundred foemen more

Bushed in and back the victor bore,

Long after Lorn had left the strife,

Full glad to 'scape with limb and life. —

Enough of this — And, Minstrel, hold,

As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold,

For future lays a fair excuse,

To speak more nobly of the Bruce." —

" Now, by Columba's shrine, I swear,
And every saint that's buried there,
'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries,
" And for my kinsman's death he dies."-
As loudly Ronald calls — " Forbear!
Not in my sight while brand I wear,
O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall,
Or blood of stranger stain my hall !
This ancient fortress of my race
Shall be misfortune's resting-place,

29

450 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto [J

Shelter and shield of the distressed,
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked guest." —
" Talk not to rue," fierce Lorn replied,
"Of odds or match!— when Comyn died,
Three daggers clashed within his side !
Talk not to me of sheltering hall,
The Church of God saw Comyn fall !
On God's own altar streamed his blood,
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood
The ruthless murderer — e'en as now-
With armed hand and scornful brow. —
Up, all who love me ! blow on blow !
And lay the outlawed felons low ! " —

Tben up sprung many a mainland lord,
Obedient to their Chieftain's word.
Barcaldine's arm is high in air,
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare,
Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath,
And clenched is Dermid's hand of death.
' Their muttered threats of vengeance swell
Into a wild and warlike yell ;
Onward they press with weapons high,
The affrighted females shriek and fly,
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray
Had darkened ere its noon of day,
But every chief of birth and fame,
That from the Isles of Ocean came,
At Ronald's side that hour withstood
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood.

Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high,

Lord of the misty hills of Skye,

Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane,

Duart, of bold Clan Gillian's strain,

Fergus, of Canna's castled bay,

Mac-Duflith, Lord of Colonsay,

Soon as they saw the broadswords glance,

With ready weapons rose at once,

More prompt, that many an ancient feud,

Full oft suppressed, full oft renewed,

Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle,

And many a lord of ocean's isle.

Wild was the scene — each sword was bare, •

Back streamed each chieftain's shaggy hair,

In gloomy opposition set,

Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons met;

Blue gleaming o'er the social board,

Flashed to the torches many a sword ;

And soon those bridal lights may shine

On purple blood for rosy wine.

Canto II.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 451

While thus for blows and death prepared,
Each heart was up, each weapon bared,
Each foot advanced,— a surly pause
Still reverenced hospitable laws.
All menaced violence, but alike
Reluctant each the first to strike,
(For aye accursed in minstrel line
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,
And, matched in numbers and in might,
Doubtful and desperate seemed the tight.)
Thus threat and murmur died away,
Till on the crowded hall there lay
Such silence, as the deadly still,
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill.
With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold
Showed like the Sworder's form of old,
As wanting still the torch of life,
To wake the marble into strife.

That awful pause the stranger maid,
And Edith, Beized to pray for aid.
As to De Argentine they clung,
Away her veil the stranger flung,
And, lovely 'mid her wild despair,
Fast streamed her eyes, wide flowed her hair.
" 0 thou, of knighthood once the flower,
Sure refuge in distressful hour,
Thou, who in Judah well hast fought
For our dear faith, and oft has sought
Renown in knightly exercise,
When this poor hand has dealt the prize.
Say, can thy soul of honour brook
On the unequal strife to look,
When butchered thus in peaceful hall,
Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall!" —
To Argentine she turned her word,
But her eye sought the Island Lord.
A flush like evening's setting flame
Glowed on his cheek; his hardy frame,
As with a brief convulsion shook :
With hurried voice and eager look, —
" Fear not," he said, " my Isabel !
What said I-Edith !— all is well-
Nay, fear not— I will well provide
The safety of my lovely bride —
My bride 1" — but there the accents clung
In tremor to his faltering tongue.

xx.

Now rose De Argentine, to claim
The prisoners iu his sovereign's name,

452 THE LORD OF TIIE ISLES. [Canto IL

To England's crown, who, vassals sworn,
'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne-—
(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide
His care their safety to provide;
For knight more true in thought and deed
:Thari Argentine ne'er spurred a steed)—
And Ronald, who his meaning guessed,
Seemed half to sanction the request.
This purpose fiery Torquil broke; —
" Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke,"
He said, "and, in our islands, Fame
Hath whispered of a lawful claim,
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's lord,
Though dispossessed by foreign sword.
This craves reflection — but though right
And just the charge of England's Knight,
Let England's crown her rebels seize,
Where she has power ; — in towers like these,
'Midst Scottish Chieftains summoned here
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer,
Be sure, with no consent of mine,
Shall either Lorn or Argentine
"With chains or violence, in our sight,
Oppress a brave and banished knight." —

Then waked the wild debate again,
With brawling threat and clamour vain.
Vassals and menials, thronging in,
Lent their brute rage to swell the din:
When, far and wide, a bugle-clang
From the dark ocean upward rang.

" The Abbot comes ! " they cry at once,
" The holy man, whose favoured glance

Hath sainted visions known;
Angels have met him on the way,
Beside the blessed martyrs' bay,

And by Columba's stone.

His monks have heard their hymnings high

Sound from the summit of Dun-Y,

To cheer his penance lone,

When at each cross, on girth and wold,

(Their number thrice a hundred-fold,)

His prayer he made, his beads he told,

With Aves many a one —
He comes our feuds to reconcile,
A sainted man from sainted isle;
We will his holy doom abide,
The Abbot shall our strife decide." —

xxir.

Scarcely this fair accord was o'er.
When through the wide-revolving door
The black-stoled brethren wind;

Cant) //.] THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. A'M

Twelve sandalled monks, who reliques here,
With many a torch-bearer before,

And many a cross behind.
Then sunk each fierce up-lifted hand,
And dagger bright and flashing brand

Dropped swiftly at the sight ;
They vanished from the churchman's eyo,
As shooting stars, that glance and die,

Dart from the vault of night.

The Abbot on the threshold stood,
And in his hand the holy rood;_
Back on his shoulders flowed his hood,

The torches' glaring ray
Showed, in its red and flashing light,
His withered cheek and amice white,
His blue eye glistening cold and bright,

His tresses scant and grey.
" Fair lords," he said, " Our Lady's love,
And peace be with you from above.

And Benedicite ! —
— But what means this? no peace is here !-
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer]

Or are these naked brands
A seemly show for Churchman's sight,
When he comes summoned to unite

Betrothed hearts and hands V —

Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,
Proud Lorn first answered the appeal; —

" Thou comest, 0 holy Man,
True sons of blessed Church to greet,
But little deeming here to meet

A wretch, beneath the ban
Of Pope and Church, for murder done
Even on the sacred altar-stone ! —
Well mayst thou wonder we should know
Such miscreant here, nor lay him low,
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce,
With excommunicated Bruce !
Yet well I grant, to end debate,
Thy sainted voice decide his fate." —

Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause,

And knighthood's oath and honour's laws;

And Isabel, on bended knee,

Brought prayers and tears to back the plea ;

And Edith lent her generous aid,

And wept, and Lorn for mercy prayed.

" Hence," he exclaimed, "degenerate maid!

Was't not enough to Ronald's bower

I brought thee, like a paramour,

454 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Cant* 11

Or bond-maid at her master's gate,
His careless cold approach to wait ? —
But the bold Lord of Cumberland,
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand;
His it shall be — Nay, no reply !
Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry."—
With grief the Abbot heard and saw,
Yet nought relaxed his brow of awe.

Then Argentine, in England's name,
So highly urged his sovereign's claim,
He waked a spark, that, long suppressed,
Had smouldered in Lord Ronald's breast;
And now, as from the flint the fire,
Flashed forth at once his generous ire.—
" Enough of noble blood," he said,
" By English Edward had been shed,
Since matchless Wallace first had been
In mockery crowned with wreaths of green,
And done to death by felon hand
For guarding well his father's land.
Where's Nigel Bruce? and Be la Haye,
And valiant Seton — where are they 1
Where Somerville, the kind and free ?
And Fraser, flower of chivalry 1
Have they not been on gibbet bound,
Their quarters flung to hawk and hound,
And hold we here a cold debate,
To yield more victims to their fate?
What ! can the English Leopard's mood
Never be gorged with northern blood ?
Was not the life of Athole shed,
To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed ?
And must his word, at dying day,
Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay ! — ■
Thou frown 'st, De Argentine, — My gage
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." —

" Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight,

" That thou shalt brave alone the fight !

By saints of isle and mainland both,

By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,)

Let Rome and England do their worst,

Howe'er attainted or accursed,

If Bruce shall e'er find friends again,

Once more to brave a battle-plain,

If Douglas couch again his lance,

Or Randolph dare another chance,

Old Torquil will not be to lack

With twice a thousand at his back. —

Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,

Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of oid.

Canto //.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 455

Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will

Smack of the wild Norwegian still;

Nor will I barter Freedom's cause

For England's wealth, or Rome's applause." —

The Abbot seemed with eye severe,

The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear;

Then on the monarch turned the Monk,

But twice his courage came and sunk,

Confronted with the hero's look;

Twice fell his eye, his accents shook;

At length, resolved in tone and brow,

Sternly he questioned him — " And thou,

Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead,

Why I denounce not on thy deed

That awful doom which canons tell

Shuts paradise, and opens hell;

Anathema of power so dread,

It blends the living with the dead,

Bids each good angel soar away,

And every ill one claim his prey ;

Expels thee from the Church's care,

And deafens Heaven against thy prayer;

Arms every hand against thy life,

Bans all who aid thee in the strife,

Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant,

With meanest alms relieves thy want;

Haunts thee while living, — and, when dead,

Dwells on thy yet devoted head,

Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse,

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse,

And spurns thy corpse from hallowed ground,

Flung like vile carrion to the hound !

Such is the dire and desperate doom,

For sacrilege decreed by Rome;

And such the well-deserved meed

Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed." —

" Abbot ! " The Bruce replied, " thy charge

It boot3 not to dispute at large.

This much, howe'er, I bid thee know,

No selfish vengeance dealt the blow,

For Comyn died his country's foe.

Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed

Fulfilled my soon-repented deed,

Nor censure those from whose stern tongue

The dire anathema has rung.

I only blame mine own wild ire,

By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire.

Heaven knows my purpose to atone,

Far as I may, the evil done,

And hears a penitent's appeal

From papal curse ami prelate's zeal.

15G THE LORE OP THE ISLES. {CarUc II

My first and dearest task achieved,

Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved,

Shall many a priest in cope and stole

Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul,

While I the blessed cross advance,

And expiate this unhappy chance,

In Palestine, with sword and lance.

But, while content the Church should know

My conscience owns the debt I owe,

Unto De Argentine and Lorn

The name of traitor I return,

Bid them defiance stern and high,

And give them in their throats the lie !

These' brief words spoke, I speak no more.

Do what thou wilt; my shrift is o'er."-'

Like man by prodigy amazed,
Upon the King the Abbot gazed;
Then o'er his pallid features glance
Convulsions of ecstatic trance.
His breathing came more thick and fast,
And from his pale blue eyes were cast
Strange rays of wild and wandering light ;
Uprise his locks of silver white,
Flushed is his brow, through every vein
In azure tide the currents strain,
And undistinguished accents broke
The awful silence ere he spoke : —

"De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread

To speak my curse upon thy head,

And give thee as an outcast o'er

To him who burns to shed thy gore; —

But, like the Midianite of old,

Who stood on Zophim, Heaven-controlled,

I feel within mine aged breast

A power that will not be repressed.

It prompts my voice, it swells my veins,

It burns, it maddens, it constrains ! —

De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow

Hath at God's altar slain thy foe:

O'er-mastered yet by high behest,

I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed !"—

He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng

Was silence, awful, deep, and long.

XXXII.

Again that light has fired his eye.
Again his form swells bold and high,
The broken voice of age is gone,
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone: —
"Thrice vanquished on the battle-plain,
Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or ta'ezi.

Canto III] TIIE LORD OF TIIE ISLES. 457

A hunted wanderer on the wild,

On foreign shores a man exiled,

Disowned, deserted, and distressed,

I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed ;

Blessed in the hall and in the field,

Under the mantle as the shield.

Avenger of thy country's shame,

Restorer of her injured fame,

Blessed in thy sceptre and thy sword,

De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord,

Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame,

What lengthened honours wait thy name !

In distant ages, sire to son

Shall tell thy tale of freedom won,

And teach his infants, in the use

Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce.

Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along

Thy course, the theme of many a song !

The Power, whose dictates swell my breast.

Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be blessed ! —

Enough — my short-lived strength decays,

And sinks the momentary blaze. —

Heaven hath our destined purpose broke,

Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ;

Brethren, our errand here is o'er,

Our task discharged. — Unmoor, unmoor !•" — ■

His priests received the exhausted Monk,

As breathless in their arms he sunk.

Punctual his orders to obey,

The train refused all longer stay,

Embarked, raised sail, and bore away.

CANTO THIRD.

i.

Hast thou not marked, when o'er thy startled head

Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled,
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead

Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ?
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold,

The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,
The wall-flower waves not on the ruined Hold,

Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill

ii.
Artornish ! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk

His prophet-speech had spoke ;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretched to meet the southern gale

Before a whisper woke.

458 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto HI

Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
'Close poured in many an anxious ear,

The solemn stillness broke ;
And still they gazed with eager guess,
Where, in an oriel's deep recess,
The Island Prince seemed bent to press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to hear.

Starting at length with frowning look,
His hand he clenched, his head he shook,

And sternly flung apart ; —
" And deem'st thou me so mean of mood,
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood embrued

From my dear Kinsman's heart ?
Is this thy rede 1 — a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn !
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.
Be it even so — believe, ere long,
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.
Call Edith— call the Maid of Lorn !
My sister, slaves ! — for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. —
Away, De Argentine, away !
We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." —

But who the Chieftain's rage can tell,
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell
To highest tower the castle round,
No Lady Edith was there found !
He shouted, " Falsehood ! — treachery !•—
Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed
To him that will avenge the deed !
A Baron's lands ! " — His frantic mood
Was scarcely by the news withstood,
That Morag shared his sister's flight,
And that, in hurry of the night,
'Scaped noteless, and without remark,
Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark. —
" Man every galley ! — fly — pursue !
The priest his treachery shall rue !
Ay, and the time shall quickly come,
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome
Will pay his feigned prophecy !" —
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry ;
And Cormac Boil in haste obeyed,
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weighed,
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil,
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.)

Cento ///.] TIIE LOUT) OF TTIE KLES. 459

But others, lingering, spoke apart, —
" The Maid has given her maiden heart

To Ronald of the Isles,
And, fearful lest her brother's word
Bestow her on that English lord,

She seeks Iona's piles,
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A votaress in the holy cell,
Until these feuds, so fierce and fell,

The Abbot reconciles." —

As, impotent of ire, the hall
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call,
" My horse, my mantle, and my train !
Let none who honours Lorn remain ! "—
Courteous, but stern, a bold request
To Bruce De Argentine addressed.
" Lord Earl," he said, — " I cannot chuse
But yield such title to the Bruce,
Though name and earldom both are gone,
Since he braced rebel's armour on —
But, Earl or Serf — rude phrase was thine
Of late, and launched at Argentine ;
Such as compels me to demand
Redress of honour at thy hand.
We need not to each other tell,
That both can wield their weapons well ;
Then do me but the soldier grace,
This glove upon thy helm to place
Where we may meet in fight ;
And I will say, as still I've said,
Though by ambition far misled,
Thou art a noble knight." —

" And I," the princely Bruce replied,
" Might term it stain on knighthood's pride.
That the bright sword of Argentine
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; —

But, for your brave request,
Be sure the honoured pledge you gave
In every battle-field shall wave

Upon my helmet-crest;
Believe, that if my hasty tongue
Hath done thine honour causeless wrong,

It shall be well redressed.
Not dearer to my soul was glove.
Bestowed in youth by lady's love,

Than this which thou hast given
Thus, then, my noble foe I greet;
Health and high fortune till we meet.

And then — what pleases Heaven." —

460 TIIE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto HI.

VII.

Thus parted they — for now, with sound
:Like waves rolled back from rocky ground,

The friends of Lorn retire;
Each mainland chieftain, with his train,
Draws to his mountain towers again,
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain,

And mortal hopes expire.
But through the castle double guard,
By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward,
Wicket and gate were trebly barred,

By beam and bolt and chain;
Then of the guests, in courteous sort,
He prayed excuse for mirth broke short,
And bade them in Artornish fort

In confidence remain.
Now. torch and menial tendance led
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed,
And beads were told, and aves said,

And soon they sank away
Into such sleep, as wont to shed
Oblivion on the weary head,

After a toilsome day.

VIII.

But soon up-roused, the Monarch cried
To Edward slumbering by his side,

" Awake, or sleep for aye !
Even now there jarred a secret door —
A taper-light gleams on the floor —

Up, Edward, up, I say !_
Some one glides in like midnight ghost —
— Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble Host."-
Advancing then his taper's flame,
Ronald stept forth, and with him came
Dunvegan's chief— each bent the knee
To Bruce, in sign of fealty,

And proffered him his sword,
And hailed him, in a monaz-ch's style,
As king of mainland and of isle,
And Scotland's rightful lord.
" And 0,;' said Ronald, " Owned of Heaven !
Say, is my erring youth forgiven.
By falsehood's arts from duty driven,

Who rebel falchion drew,
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame,
' Even while I strove against thy claim,

Paid homage just and true ? "—
"Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time,"
Answered the Bruce, "must bear the crime,

Since, guiltier far than you,
Even I "—he paused ; for Falkirk's woes
Upon his conscious soul arose.
The Chieftain to his breast he pressed,
And in a sigh concealed the rest.

Can'.o III.] THE LOUD OF TUE ISLES. 43]

They proffered aid, by arms and miglit,
To repossess him in his right;
But well their counsels must be wei
Ere banners raised and musters made,
For English hire and Lorn's intrigues
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues.
In answer, Bruce his purpose bold
To his new vassals frankly told —
" The winter worn in exile o'er,
I longed for Carrick's kindred shore.
I thought upon my native Ayr,
And longed to see the burly fare
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call
Now echoes through my father's hall.
But first my course to Arran led,
Where valiant Leunox gathers head,
And on the sea, by temjjest tossed,
Our barks dispersed, our purpose crossed,
Mine own, a hostile sail to &hun,
Far from her destined course had run,
When that wise will, which masters ours,
Compelled us to your friendly towers." —

Then Torquil spoke: " The time craves speed !

We must not linger in our deed,

But instant pray our Sovereign Liege

To shun the perils of a siege.

The vengeful Lorn, with all his powers,

Lies but too near Artornish towers,

And England's light-armed vessels ride,

Not distant far, the waves of Clyde,

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor,

And sweep each strait, and guard each thoie.

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by,

Secret and safe my Liege must lie

In the fair bounds of friendly Skye,

Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." —

" Not so, brave Chieftain," Ronald cried ;

" Myself will on my Sovereign wait,

And raise in arms the men of Sleate,

Whilst thou, renowned where chiefs debate,

Shalt sway their souls by counsel sage,

And awe them by thy locks of age." —

" And if my words in weight shall fail,

This ponderous sword shall turn the scale." —

" The scheme," said Bruce, "contents me well ;
Meantime, 'twere best that Isabel,
For safety, with my bark and crew,
Again to friendly Erin drew.

4G2 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto III

There, Edward, too, shall with her wend,
In need to cheer her and defend,
And muster up each scattered friend." —
Here seemed it as Lord .Ronald's ear
Would other counsel gladlier hear ;
But, .all achieved as soon as planned,
Both barks in secret armed and manned,

From out the haven bore;

On different voyage forth they ply,

This for the coast of winged Skye,

. And that for Erin's shore.

With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale.
To favouring winds they gave the sail,
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew,
And Ardnarnurchan's hills were blue.
But then the squalls blew close and hard,
And, fain to strike the galley's yard,

And take them to the oar,
With these rude seas, in weary plight,
They strove the livelong day and night,
Nor till the dawning had a sight

Of Skye's romantic shore.
Where Coolin stoops him to the west,
They saw upon his shivered crest

The sun's arising gleam;
But such the labour and delay,
Ere they were moored in Scarigh bay,
(Fox calmer heaven compelled to stay)

He shot a western beam.
Then llonald said, — " If true mine eye,
These are the savage wilds that lie
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye;

No human foot comes here,
And, since these adverse breezes blow,
If my good Liege love hunter's bow,
What hinders that on land we go,

And strike a mountain deer !
Allan, my Page, shall with us wend ;
A. bow full deftly can he bend,
And, if we meet a herd, may send

A shaft shall mend our cheer." —
Then each took bow and bolts in hand,
Their row-boat launched and leapt to land,

And left their skiff and train,
Where a wild stream, with headlong shock,
Came brawling down its bed of rock,

To mingle with the main.

XIII.

A while their route they silent made,

As men who stalk for mountain deer,

Till the good Bruce to Ronald said,
" St. Mary ! what a scene is here 1

Canto III.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 463

I've traversed many a mountain-strand,

Abroad and in my native laud,

And it has been my lot to tread

"Where safety more than pleasure led;
Thus, mauy a waste I've wandered o'er,
Clomb many a crag, crossed many a na>or •
But, by my halidome,

A scene so rude, so wild as this,

Yet so sublime in barrenness,

Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press,
Where'er I happed to roam.' —

No marvel thus the Monarch spake;

For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread lake,

With its dark ledge of barren stone.
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway
Hath rent a strange and shattered way

Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Sable ravine and dark abyss,

Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest glen, but this, can show
Some touch of Nature's genial glow;
On high Benmore green mosses grow,
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencoe,

And copse on Cruchan-Ben,
But here, above, around, below,

On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,
Nor aught of vegetative power,

The weary eye may ken.
For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone,

As if were here denied
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew,
That clothe with many a varied hue

The bleakest mountain side.

And wilder, forward as they wound,
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound.
Huge terraces of granite black
Afforded rude and cumbered track ;

For from the mountain hoar,
Hurled headlong in some night of fear,
When yelled the wolf and fled the deer,

Loose crags had toppled o'er;
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay,
So that a stripling arm might sway

A mass no host could raise.
In Nature's rage at random thrown,
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone

On its precarious base.

4S4 THE lORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto HI

The evening mists, with ceaseless change,
Now clothed the mountains lofty range,

Now left their foreheads bare,
And round the skirts their mantle furled,
Or on the sable waters curled,
Or, on the eddying breezes whirled,

Dispersed in middle air.
And oft, condensed, at once they lower,
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower

Pours like a torrent down,
And when return the sun's glad beams, '
Whitened with foam a thousand streams

Leap from the mountain's crown.

" This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers drear
Are precipices sharp and sheer,
Yielding no track for goat or deer,

Save the black shelves we tread,
How term you its dark waves 1 and how
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow,

And yonder peak of dread,
That to the evening sun up>lifts
The griesly gulphs and slaty rifts,

Which seam its shivered head 1 " —
" Coriskin call the dark lake's name,
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame.
But bards, familiar in our isles
Bather with Nature's frowns than smiles,
Full oft their careless humours please
By sportive names for scenes like these.
I would old Torquil were to show
His Maidens with their breasts of snow,
Or that my noble Liege were nigh
To hear his nurse sing lullaby !
(The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers white,
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might,)
Or that your eye could see the mood
Of Corrievreken's whirlpool rude,
When dons the Hag her whitened hood —
'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames,
For scenes so stern, fantastic names." —

Answered the Bruce, "And musing mind
Might here a graver moral find.
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high
Their naked brows to middle sky,
Indifferent to the sun or snow,
Where nought can fade, and nought can blow,
May they not mark a Monarch's fate, —
Raised high 'mid storms of strife and state,
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed,
His soul a rock, his heart a waste]

ffanlo III] THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 4G5

O'er hope and love and fear aloft
High rears his crowned head — But soft !
Look, underneath yon jutting crag
Are hunters and a slaughtered stag.
"Who may they be? But late you said
No steps these desert regions tread !" — ■

XVIII.

" So said I — and believed in sooth,"

Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth.

Yet now I spy, by yonder stone,

Five men — they mark us, and come on;

And by their badge on bonnet borne,

I guess them of the land of Lorn,

Foes to my Liege." — " So let it be;

I've faced worse odds than five to three —

— But the poor Page can little aid;

Then be our battle thus arrayed,

If our free passage they contest;

Cope thou with two, I'll match the rest." —

" Not so, my Liege — for by my life,

This sword shall meet the treble strife;

My strength, my skill in arni3, more small,

And less the loss should Ronald fall.

But islemen soon to soldiers grow, —

Allan has sword as well as bow,

And were my Monarch's order given,

Two shafts should make our numbers even." —

" No ! not to save my life ! " he said;

" Enough of blood rests on my head,

Too rashly spilled — we soon shall know,

"Whether they come as friend or foe." —

XIX.

Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh; —
Still less they pleased the Monarch's eye.
Men were they all of evil mien,
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen;
They moved with half resolved pace,
A nd bent on earth each gloomy face.
The foremost two were fair arrayed,
With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid,
And bore the arms of mountaineers,
Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears.
The three, that lagged small space behind,
Seemed serfs of more degraded kind;
Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast,
Made a rude fence against the blast;
Their arms and feet and heads were bare,
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair;
For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand
A club, an axe, a rusty brand.

xx.

Onward, still mute, they kept the track;—
" Tell who yc be, or else stand back,"

30

46G THE LORD OF TOE ISLES. [Canto III.

Said Bruce. " In deserts when they meet,

Men pass not as in peaceful sti-eet. "■ —

Still, at his stern command, they stood,

And proffered greeting brief and rude,

But acted courtesy so ill,

As seemed of fear, and not of will.

" Wand'rers we are, as ycu may be;

Men hither driven by wind and sea,

Who, if you list to taste our cheer,

"Will share with you this fallow deer." —

"If from the sea, where lies your bark ]" —

" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark !

Wrecked yesternight ; but we are men

Who little sense of peril ken.

The shades come down — the day is shut —

Will you go with us to our hut V —

" Our vessel waits us in the bay ;

Thanks for your proffer — have good day." —

" Was that your galley, then, which rode

Not far from shore when evening glowed 1" —

" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain,

There will she now be sought in vain.

We saw her from the mountain head,

When with St. George's blazon red

A southern vessel bore in sight,

And yours raised sail, and took to flight." —

" Now, by the rood, unwelcome news ! "
Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ;
" Nor rests there light enough to show
If this their tale be true or no.
The men seem bred of churlish kind,
Yet rugged brows have bosoms kind ;
We will go with them — food and fire
And sheltering roof our wants require.
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep,
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — ■
Good fellows, thanks; your guests we'll be,
And well will pay the courtesy.
Come, lead us where your lodging lies, —
— Nay, soft! we mix not companies. —
Show us the path o'er crag and stone,
And we will follow you; — lead on." —

XXII.

They reached the dreary cabin, made
Of sails against a rock displayed,

And there, on entering, found
A slender boy, whose form and mien
111 suited with such savage scene,
In cap and cloak of velvet green,

Low seated on the ground.
His garb was such as minstrels wear,
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair,

Oaitio III.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 467

His youthful cheek was marred by care,

His eyes in sorrow drowned.
" Whence this poor boy V — As Ronald spuke
The voice his trance of anguish broke ;
As if awaked from ghastly dream,
He raised his head with start and scream,

And wildly gazed around;
Then to the wall his face he turned,
And his dark cheek with blushes burned.

" Whose is the boy ? " again he said.
" By chance of war our captive made;
He may be yours, if you should hold
That music has more charms than gold;
For, though from earliest childhood mute,
The lad can deftly touch the lute,
And on the rote and viol play,
And well can drive the time away

For those who love such glee;
For me, the favouring breeze, when loud
It pipes upon the galley's shroud,
Makes blither melody." —
"Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound]"- —

" Ay; so his mother bade us know,
A crone in our late shipwreck drowned,

And hence the silly stripling's woe.
More of the youth I cannot say,
Our captive but since yesterday ;
When wind and weather waxed so grim,
We little listed think of him. —
But why waste time in idle words?
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords." —
Sudden the captive turned his head,
And one quick glance to Ronald sped.
It was a keen and warning look,
And well the Chief the signal took.

" Kind host," he said, " our needs require
A separate board and separate fire ;
For know, that on a pilgrimage
Wend I, my comrade, and this page.
And, sworn to vigil and to fast,
Long as this hallowed task shall last,
We never doff the plaid or sword,
Or feast us at a stranger's board ;
And never share one common sleep,
But one must still his vigil keep.
Thus, for our separate use, good friend,
We'll hold this hut's remoter end." —
" A churlish vow," the eldest said,
" And hard, methinks, to be obeyed.
How say yon, if, to wreak the scorn
That pays our kindness harsh return,

46S THE LORD OP TUE ISLES. [Canto III

We should refuse to share our meal? " —
— " Then say we, that our swords are steel !
And our vow binds us not to fast,
Where gold or force may buy repast." —
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell,
His teeth are clenched, his features swell ;
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire,
Nor could his craven courage brook
The Monarch's calm and dauntless look.
With laugh constrained, — " Let every man
Follow the fashion of his clan!
Each to his separate quarters keep,
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." —

Their fire at separate distance burns,
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns ;
For evil seemed that old man's eye,
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy.
Still he avoided forward look,
But slow and circumspectly took
A circling, never-ceasing glance,
By doubt and cunning marked at once,
Which shot a mischief-boding ray
From under eyebrows shagged and grey.
The younger, too, who seemed his son,
Had that dark look, the timid shun;
The half-clad serfs behind them sate,
And scowled a glare 'twixt fear and hate —
Till all, as darkness onward crept,
Couched down and seemed to sleep, or slept.
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong,
A longer watch of sorrow made,
But stretched his limbs to slumber laid.

Not in his dangerous host confides
The King, but wary watch provides.
Eonald keeps ward till midnight past,
Then wakes the King, young Allan last ;
Thus ranked, to give the youthful Page
The rest required by tender age.
— What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought,
To chase the languor toil had brought? —
(For deem not that he deigned to throw
Much care upon such coward foe,) —
He thinks of lovely Isabel,
When at her foeman's feet she fell,
Nor less when, placed in princely selle,
She glanced on him with favouring eyes,
At Woodstock when he won the prize.
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair,

Canto HI.] THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 4G9

In pride of place as 'mid despair,

Must she alone engross his care.

His thoughts to his betrothed bride,

To Edith, turn — 0 how decide,

When here his love and heart are given,

And there his faith stands plight to Heaven !

No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep,

For seldom lovers long for sleep.

Till sung his midnight hymn the owl,

Answered the dog-fox with his howl,

Then waked the King — at his request,

Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest.

What spell was good King Robert's, say,

To drive the weary night away?

Hi3 was the patriot's burning thought,

Of Freedom's battle bravely fought,

Of castles stormed, of cities freed,

Of deep design and daring deed,

Of England's roses reft and torn,

And Scotland's cross in triumph worn,

Of rout and rally, war and truce, —

As heroes think, so thought the Bruce.

No marvel, 'mid such musings high,

Sleep shunned the Monarch's thoughtful eye.

Now over Coolin's eastern head

The greyish light begins to spread,

The otter to his cavern drew,

And clamoured shrill the wakening mew;

Then watched the Page — to needful rest

The King resigned his anxious breast.

To Allan's eyes was harder task,
The weary watch their safeties ask.
He trimmed the fire, and gave to shine
With bickering light the splintered pine;
Then gazed a while, where silent laid
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight alive.
Then thought he of his mother's tower,
His little sisters' green-wood bower,
How there the Easter-gamboh pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolonged the blazes die —
Again he roused him — on the lake
Looked forth, where now the twilight-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled,
The morning breere the lake had curled.

470 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto III

The short dark waves, heaved to the land,

With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand ; —

It was a slumb'rous sound — he turned

To tales at which his youth had burned,

Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed,

Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,

Of the wild witch's baneful cot,

And mermaid's alabaster grot,

Who bathes her limbs in sunless well

Deep in Strath-aird's enchanted cell.

Thither in fancy rapt he flies,

And on his sight the vaults arise;

That hut's dark walls he sees, no more,

His foot is on the marble floor,

And o'er his head the dazzling spars

Gleam like a firmament of stars!

— Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak

Her anger in that thrilling shriek? —

No! all too late, with Allan's dream

Mingled the captive's warning scream!

As from the ground he strives to start,

A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!

Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, ....

Murmurs his master's name, .... and diesl

XXIX.

Not so awoke the King ! his hand
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand,
The nearest weapon of his wrath;
With this he crossed the murderer's path,

And venged young Allan well !
The spattered brain and bubbling blood
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood, —

The miscreant gasped and fell!
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord;
One caitiff died upon his sword,
And one beneath his grasp lies prone,
In mortal-grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank
The life-blood from his panting flank,
The Father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand!

— 0 for a moment's aid,
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow,
Dash to the earth another foe,

Above his comrade laid! —
And it is gained — the captive sprung
On the raised arm, and closely clung,

And, ere he shook him loose,
The mastered felon pressed the ground,
And gasped beneath a mortal wound,

While o'er him stands the Bruce.

XXX.

" Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting spark,
(jive me to know the purpose dark

Cento III.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 471

That armed thy hand with murderous knife,

Against offenceless stranger's life ]" —

— " No stranger thou!" with accent fell,

Murmured the wretch; "I know thee well;

And know thee for the foeman sworn

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." —

— " Speak yet again, and speak the truth

For thy soul's sake! — from whence this youth]

His country, birth, and name declare,

And thus one evil deed repair. " —

— " Vex me no more ! . . . my blood runs cold . . .

No more I know than I have told.

We found him in a bark we sought

With different purpose . . . and I thought . . ."

Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil,

As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.

Then resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
" Now shame upon us both ! — that boy

Lifts his mute face to heaven,
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high,

For strange deliverance given.
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid ! "•
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But marked him shudder at the sword ;
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
" Alas, poor child ! unfitting part
Fate doomed, when with so soft a heart,

And form so slight as thine,
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then, in his stead, a patron gave

Of wayward lot like mine:
A landless prince, whose wandering life
■ Is but one scene of Wood and strife —
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee. —
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke; —
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke.
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale
Was false, that she had hoisted sail." —

XXXII.

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan :— " Who shall tell this tale,"
He said. " in halls of Lonagaile !
Oh, who his widowed mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! —

472 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto IV.

Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer ;
"While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie,
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry ! " —
And now the eastern mountain's head
On the dark lake threw lustre red ;
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak
Ravine and precipice and peak —
(So earthly power at distance shows ;
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.)
O'er sheets of granite dark and broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,
And the mute Page moves slow behind.

CANTO FOURTH.

x.

Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced

The northern realms of ancient Caledon,
Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,

By lake and cataract, her lonely throne;
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,

Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown

Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.

Yes ! 'twas sublime, but sad. — The loneliness

Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press

Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.
Then hast thou wished some woodman's cottage nigh,

Something that showed of life, though low and mean ;
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,

Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been.
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes

An awful thrill that softens into sighs ;
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes,

In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise :
Or further, where, beneath the northern skies,

Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar —
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize

Of desert dignity to that dread shore,
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskm roar.

Through such wild scenes the champions passed,
When bold halloo and bugle-blast
Upon the breeze came loud and fast.

Canto IV.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 473

" There," said the Bruce, "blew Edward's horn!
What can have caused such brief return 1
And see, brave Ronald, — see him dait
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart
Precipitate, as is the use,
In war or sport, of Edward Bruce.
—He marks us, and his eager cry-
Will tell his news ere he be nigh." —

Loud Edward shouts, "What make ye here,
Warring upon the mountain deer,

When Scotland wants her King ?
A bark from Lennox crossed our track,
With her in speed I hurried back,

These joyful news to bring —
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,
And Douglas wakes his native vale;
Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won its way
With little loss to Brodick-Bay;
And Lennox, with a gallant band,
Waits but thy coming and command
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand.
There are blithe news ! — but mark the close !
Edward, the deadliest of our foes,
As with his host he northward passed,
Hath on the Borders breathed his last." —

Still stood the Bruce — his steady cheek
Was little wont his joy to speak,

But then his colour rose :
"Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thou see,
With God's high will, thy children free,

And vengeance on thy foes !
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs,
Bear witness with me Heaven, belongs

My joy o'er Edward's bier;
I took my knighthood at his hand,
And lordship held of him, and land,

And well may vouch it here,
That, blot the story from his page
Of Scotland ruined in his rage,
You read a monarch brave and sage,

And to his people dear." —
" Let London's burghers mourn her lord,
And Croydon monks his praise record,"

The eager Edward said ;
" Eternal as his own, my hate
Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate,

And dies not with the dead !
Such hate was his on Solway's strand,
When vengeance clenched his palsied hand.
That pointed yet to Scotland's land,

As his last accents prayed

474 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto TV

Disgrace and curse upon his heir,
If he one Scottish head should spare,
Till stretched upon the bloody lair

Each rebel corpse was laid !
Such hate was his, when his last breath
Renounced the peaceful house of death,
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast
Be borne by his remorseless host, —
As if his dead and stony eye
Could still enjoy her misery!
Such hate was his, — dark, deadly, long;
Mine, — as enduring, deep, and strong ! " —

"Let women, Edward, war with words,

With curses monks, but men with swords :

Nor doubt of living foes, to sate

Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.

Now, to the sea ! behold the beach,

And see the galleys' pendants stretch

Their fluttering length down favouring gale!

Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the sail.

Hold we our way for Arran first,

Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ;

Lennox the loyal, De la Haye,

And Boyd the bold in battle fray.

I long the hardy band to head,

And see once more my standaixl spread. —

Does noble Ronald share our course,

Or stay to raise his island force]" —

" Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side,"

Replied the Chief, " will Ronald bide.

And since two galleys yonder ride,

Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed

To wake to arms the clans of Uist,

And all who hear the Minche's roar,

On the Long Island's lonely shore.

The nearer Isles, with slight delay,

Ourselves may summon in our way

And soon on Arran 's shore shall meet,

With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet,

If aught avails their Chieftain's hest

Among the islesmen of the west." —

VI.

Thus was their venturous counsel said.
But, ere their sails the galleys spread,
Coriskin dark and Coolin high
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry ;
Along that sable lake passed slow, —
Fit scene for such a sight of woe, —
The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore
The murdered Allan to the shore.
At every pause, with dismal shout,
Their coronach of grief rung out,

Canto IV.] THE LORD OF TIIE ISLES. 47E

And ever, when they moved again,
The pipes resumed their clamorous strain,
And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail,
Mourned the young heir of Donagaile.
Round and around, from cliff and cave,
His answer stern old Coolin gave,
Till high upon his misty side
Languished the mournful notes, and died.
For never sounds by mortal made,
Attained his high and haggard head,
That echoes but the tempest's moan,
Or the deep thunder's rending groan.

Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark,

She bounds before the gale,
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch

Is joyous in her sail I
With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse

The cords and canvas strain;
The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chased her course,

As if they laughed again.
Not down the breeze more blithely flew,
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew,

Than that gay galley bore
Her course upon that favouring wind,
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind,

And Slapin's caverned shore.
'Twas then that warlike signals wake
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake,
And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread
A summons these of war and wrath
To the brave clans of Sleate and Strath;

And, ready at the sight,
Each warrior to his weapon sprung,
And targe upon his shoulder flung,

Impatient for the fight.
Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare grey,
Had charge to muster their array,
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay.

Signal of Ronald's high command,
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land,
From Canna's tower, that, steep and grey,
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb,
To view the turret scathed by time ;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain deer.
But rest thee on the silver beach,
And let the aged herdsman teach
His tale of former day ;

476 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto IV

His cur's wild clamour he shall chide,
And for thy seat by ocean's side,

His varied plaid display ;
Then tell, with Canna's Chieftain came,
In ancient times, a foreign dame
To yonder turret grey.
Stern was her lord's suspicious mind,
Who in so rude a jail confined

So soft and fair a thrall !
And oft when moon on ocean slept,
That lovely lady sate and wept

Upon the castle wall,
And turned her eye to southern climes,
And thought perchance of happier times,
And touched her lute by fits, and sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And still, when on the cliff and bay
Placid and pale the moonbeams play,

And every breeze is mute,
Upon the lone Hebi-idean's ear
Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear,
While from that cliff he seems to hear

The murmur of a lute,
And sounds, as of a captive lone,
That mourns her woes in tongue unknown. —
Strange is the tale — but all too long
Already hath it stayed the song —

Yet who may pass them by,
That crag and tower in ruins grey,
Nor to their hapless tenant pay

The tribute of a sigh !

Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark

O'er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Konin's mountains dark

The steersman's hand has given.
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent

Their hunters to the shore,
And each his ashen bow unbent,

And gave his pastime o'er,
And at the Island Lord's command,
P'or hunting-spear took warrior's brand.
On Scoor-Eigg next a warning light
Summoned her warriors to the fight ;
A numerous race, ere stern Macleod
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,
When all in vain the ocean cave
Its refuge to his victims gave.
The Chief, relentless in his wrath,
With blazing heath blockades the path ;
In dense and stifling volumes rolled,
The vapour filled the caverned Hold !
The warrior- threat, the infant's plain,
The mother's screams, were heard in vain ;

Canto IV.} THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 477

The vengeful chief maintains bis fires,
Till in the vault a tribe expires !
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom,
Too well attest their dismal doom.

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark

On a breeze from the northward free,
So shoots through the morning sky the lark,

Or the swan through the summer sea.
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,
And Ulva dark and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay

That guard famed Staffa round.
Then all unknown its columns rose,
Where dark and undisturbed repose

The cormorant had found,
And the shy seal had quiet home,
And weltered in that wondrous dome,
Where, as to shame the temples decked
15y skill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise
A Minster to her Maker's praise !
Not for a meaner use ascend
Her columns, or her arches bend ;
Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,
And still, between each awful pause,
From the high vault an answer draws,
In varied tone prolonged and high,
That mocks the organ's melody.
Nor doth its entrance front in vain
To old Iona's holy fane,
That Nature's voice might seem to say,
" Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay !
Thy humble powers that stately shrine
Tasked high and hard — but witness mine ! "-

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark,

Before the gale she bounds;
So darts the dolphin from the shark,

• Or the deer before the hounds.
They left Loch-Tua on their lee,
And they wakened the men of the wild Tiree,

And the Chief of the sandy Coll ;
They paused not at Columba's isle,
Though pealed the bells from the holy pile

With long and measured toll;
No time for matin or for mass,
And the sounds of the holy summons pass

Away in the billows' roll.
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord
Their signal saw, and grasped his sword,

178 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. [Canto 17

And verdant Hay called her host,
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast

Lord Ronald's call obey,
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar,

And lonely Golonsay ;
— Scenes sung by him who sings no more !
His bright and brief career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains ;
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour ;
A distant and a deadly shore

Has Leyden's cold remains !

XII.

Ever the breeze blows merrily,
But the galley ploughs no more the sea,
Lest, rounding wild Cantire, they meet
The southern foemen's watchful fleet,

They held unwonted way; —
Dp Tarbat's western lake they bore,
Then dragged their bark the isthmus o'er,
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore,

Upon the eastern bay.
It was a wondrous sight to see
Topmast and pennon glitter free,
High raised above the greenwood tree,
As on dry land the galley moves,
By cliff and copse and alder groves.
Deep import from that selcouth sign
Did many a mountain Seer divine;
For ancient legends told the Gael,
That when a royal bark should sail

O'er Kilmaconnel moss,
Old Albyn should in fight prevail,
And every foe should faint and quail
Before her silver Cross.

XIII.

Now launched once more, the inland sea
They furrow with fair augury,

And steer for Arran's isle ;
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind
Ben-Ghoil, " The Mountain of the Wind,"
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind,

And bade Loch-Ranza smile.
Thither their destined course they drew;
It seemed the isle her monarch knew,
So brilliant was the landward view,

The ocean so serene;
Each puny wave in diamonds rolled
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold

With azure strove and green.
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower,
Glowed with the tints of evening's hour,

The beach was silver sheen,

Omilo TV.} THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 479

The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh,
And, oft renewed, seemed oft to die,
With breathless pause between.

0 who, with speech of war and woes,
Would wish to break the soft repose

Of such enchanting scene !

XIV.

Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks 1

The blush that dyes his manly cheeks,

The timid look, and down-cast eye,

And faltering voice, the theme deny.
And good King Robert's brow expressed,
He pondered o'er some high request,

As doubtful to approve ;
Yet in his eye and lip the while
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile,
Which manhood's graver mood beguile,
When lovers talk of love.

Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ;

— " And for my bride betrothed," he said,

" My Liege has heard the rumour spread

Of Edith from Artornish fled.

Too hard her fate — I claim no right

To blame her for her hasty flight ;

Be joy and happiness her lot ! —

But she hath fled the bridal-knot.

And Lorn recalled his promise plight,

In the assembled Chieftains' sight. —
When, to fulfil our father's band,
I proffered all I could — my hand —

I was repulsed with scorn :
Mine honour I should ill assert,
And worse the feelings of my heart,
If I should play a suitor's part
Again, to pleasure Lorn."—
xv.

" Young lord," the royal Bruce replied,

" That question must the Church decide ;

Yet seems it hard, since rumours state

Edith takes Clifford for her mate,

The very tie, which she hath broke,

To thee should still be binding yoke.

But, for my sister Isabel —

The mood of woman who can tell 1

1 guess the Champion of the Rock,
Victorious in the tourney shock,

That knight unknovn, to whom the prize
She dealt, — had favour in her eyes ;
But since our brother Nigel's fate,
Our ruined house and hapless state,
From worldly joy and hope estranged,
Much is the hapless mourner changed.
Perchance," here smiled the noble King,
" This tale may other musings bring.

iSO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. \_Canto IV

Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide
The little convent of Saint Bride ;
There, sent by Edward, she must stay,
Till fate shall give more prosperous day ;
And thither will I bear thy suit,
.N or will thine advocate be mute. " —

As thus they talked in earnest mood,

That speechless boy beside them stood.

He stooped his head against the mast,

And bitter sobs came thick and fast, —

A grief that would not be repressed,

13 ut seemed to burst his youthful breast.

His hands, against his forehead held,

As if by force his tears repelled;

But through his fingers, long and slight,

Fast trilled the drops of crystal bright.

Edward, who walked the deck apart,

First spied this conflict of the heart.

Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind

He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind;

By force the slender hand he drew

From those poor eyes that streamed with dew.

As in his hold the stripling strove, — _

('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,)

Away his tears the warrior swept,

And bade shame on him that he wept.

" I would to Heaven thy helpless tongue

Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong !

For, were he of our crew the best,

The insult went not unredressed.

Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age

To be a warrior's gallant page ;

Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair

O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear,

To hold my bow in hunting grove,

Or speed on errand to my love ;

For well I wot thou wilt not tell

The temple where my wishes dwell." —

Bruce interposed, — " Gay Edward, no

This is no youth to hold thy bow,

To fill thy goblet, or to bear

Thy message light to lighter fair.

Thou art a patron all too wild

And thoughtless, for this orphan child.

Seest thou not how apart he steals,

Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals?

Fitter by far in yon calm cell

To tend our sister Isabel,

With father Augustin to share

The peaceful change of convent prayer,

Canto 1 V.] THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. 4S1

Than wander wild adventures through,
With such a reckless guide as you." —
" Thanks, brother ! " Edward answered gay,
' ' For the high laud thy words convey !
But we may learn some future day,
If thou or I can this poor boy
Protect the best, or best employ.
Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ;
Launch we the boat, and seek the land." —

To land King Robert lightly sprung,

And thrice aloud his bugle rung

With note prolonged and varied strain,

Till bold Ben-ghoil replied again.

Good Douglas then, and De la Haye,

Had in a glen a hart at bay,

And Lennox cheered the laggard hounds,

When waked that horn the green-wood bounds.

" It is the foe ! " cried Boyd, who came

In breathless haste with eye on flame, —

" It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord

Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword ! "—

" Not so," replied the good Lord James;

"That blast no English bugle claims.

Oft have I heard it fire the fight,

Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight.

Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear,

If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear !

Each to Loch-llanza'3 margin spring ;

That blast was winded by the King ! " —

Fast to their mates the tidings spread,

And fast to shore the warriors sped.

Bursting from glen and green-wood tree,

High waked their loyal jubilee !

Around the royal Bruce they crowd,

And clasped his hands, and wept aloud.

Veterans of early fields were there,

Whose helmets pressed their hoary hair,

Whose swords and axes bore a stain

From life-blood of the red-haired Dane ;

And boys, whose hands scarce brooked to wield

The heavy sword or bossy shield.

Men too were there, that bore the scars

Impressed in Albyn's woeful wars,

At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight,

Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven's flight ;

The might of Douglas there was seen,

There Lennox with his graceful mien ;

Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight;

The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light ;

The Heir of murdered De la Haye,

And Boyd the grave, and Scton gay.

31

482 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto IV.

Around their King regained they pressed,
Wept, shouted, clasped him to their breast,
And young and old, and serf and lord,
And he who ne'er unsheathed a.sword,
And he in many a peril tried,
Alike resolved the brunt to bide,
And live or die by Bruce's side !

Oh, War ! thou hast thy fierce delight,
Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright!
Such gleams, as from thy polished shield
Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field !
Such transports wake, severe and high,
Amid the pealing conquest-cry ;
Scarce less, when, after battle lost,
Muster the remnants of a host,
Ind as each comrade's name they tell,
vVho in the well-fought conflict fell,
Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye,
Vow to avenge them or to die ! —
Warriors ! — and where are warriors found,
If not on martial Britain's ground 1
And who, when waked with note of fire,
Love more than they the British lyre 1 — ■
Know ye not, — hearts to honour dear !
That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe,
At which the heart strings vibrate high,
And wake the fountains of the eye ]
And blame ye then, the Bruce, if trace
Of tear is on his manly face,
When, scanty relics of the train
That hailed at Scone his early reign,
This patriot band around him hung,
And to his knees and bosom clung] —
Blame ye the Bruce ? — his brother blamed,
But shared the weakness, while ashamed,
With haughty laugh his head he turned,
And dashed away the tear he scorned.

'Tis morning, and the Convent bell
Long time had ceased its matin knell,

Within thy walls, Saint Bride !
An aged Sister sought the cell
Assigned to Lady Isabel,

And hurriedly she cried,
" Haste, gentle Lady, haste — there waits
A noble stranger at the gates ;
Saint Bride's poor votaress ne'er has seen
A Knight of such a princely mien ;
His errand, as he bade me tell,
Is with the Lady Isabel." —
The princess rose, — for on her knee
Low bent she told her rosary, —

Canto IK) THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 483

" Let him by thee his purpose teach ;
I may not give a stranger speech." —
" Saint Bride forefend, thou royal Maid !"
The portress crossed herself, and said,—
" Not to be prioress might I
Debate his will, his suit deny." —
" Has earthly show then, simple fool,
Power o'er a sister of thy rule,
And art thou like the worldly train,
Subdued by splendours light and rain?" —

xxir.
" No, Lady ! in old eyes like mine,
Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine ;
Nor grace his rank attendants vain,
One youthful page is all his train.
It is the form, the eye, the word,
The bearing of that stranger lord ;
His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
Built like a castle's battled wall,
Yet moulded in such just degrees,
His giant strength seems lightsome ease.
Close as the tendrils of the vine
His locks upon his forehead twine,
Jet-black, save where some touch of grey
Has ta'en the youthful hue away.
AYeather and war their rougher trace
Have left on that majestic face ; —
But 'tis his dignity of eye !
There, if a suppliant, would I fly,
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,
Of sympathy, redress, relief—
That glance, if guilty, would I dread
More than the doom that spoke me dead ! "
" Enough, enough," the princess cried,—'
" 'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride !
To meaner front was ne'er assigned
Such mastery o'er the common mind —
Bestowed thy high designs to aid,
How long, 0 Heaven ! how long delayed !—
Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce
My darling brother, royal Bruce ! "—

XXIII.

They met like friends who part in pain,
And meet in doubtful hope again.
But when subdued that fitful swell,
The Bruce surveyed the humble cell ;—
" And this is thine, poor Isabel, —
That pallet-couch, and naked wall,
For room of state, and bed of pall ';
For costly robes and jewels rare,
A string of beads and zone of hair ;
And for the trumpet's sprightly call
To sport or banquet, grove~or hall,

484 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto IV.

The bell's grim voice divides thy care,
'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer ! —
0 ill for thee, my royal claim
From the First David's sainted name !
0 woe for thee, that while he sought
His right, thy brother feebly fought ! " —

" Now lay these vain regrets aside,

And be the unshaken Bruce ! " she cried.

" For more I glory to have shared

The woes thy venturous spirit dared,

When raising first thy valiant band

In rescue of thy native land,

Than had fair Fortune set me down

The partner of an empire's crown.

And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream

No more I drive in giddy dream;

For Heaven the erring pilot knew,

And from the gulf the vessel drew;

Tried me with judgments stern and great,

My house's ruin, thy defeat,

Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, I own,

My hopes are fixed on Heaven alone ;

Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win

My heart to this vain world of sin." —

" Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice, _

First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice;

Then ponder if in convent scene

No softer thoughts might intervene —

Say they were of that unknown Knight,

Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight—

Nay, if his name such blush you owe,

Victorious o'er a fairer foe ! " —

Truly his penetrating eye

Hath caught that blush's passing dye, —

Like the last beam of evening thrown

On a white cloud, — just seen and gone.

Soon with calm cheek and steady eye,

The princess made composed reply : —

" I guess my brother's meaning well;

For not so silent is the cell,

But we have heard the islesmen all

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call,

And mine eye proves that Knight Unknown

And the brave Island Lord are one. —

Had then his suit been earlier made,

In his own name, with thee to aid,

(But that his plighted faith forbade,)

I know not.... But thy Page so near ? —

This is no tale for menial's ear."—

Canto 1V.1 TIIE LORD OP TIIE ISLES. 4.35

Still stood tliat Page, as far apart

As the small cell vrould space afford;
With dizzy eye and bursting heart,

He leant his weight en Bruce's sword,
The monarch's mantle too he bore,
And drew the fold his visage o'er.
" Fear not for him— in murderous strife,"
Said Bruce, " his warning saved my life;
Full seldom parts he from my side;
And in his silence I confide,
Since he can tell no tale again. —
He is a boy of gentle strain,
And I have purposed he shall dwell
In Augustiu the chaplain's cell,
And wait on thee, my Isabel. —
Mind not his tears; I've seen them flow,
As in the thaw dissolves the snow.
'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful,
Unfit against the tide to pull;
And those that with the Bruce would sail,
Must learn to strive with stream and gale.-
But forward, gentle Isabel —
•My answer for Lord Ronald tell."—

xxvir.
" This answer be to Ronald given—
The heart he asks is fixed on heaven.
My love was like a summer flower,
That withered in the wintry hour,
Born but of vanity and pride,
And with these sunny visions died.
If further press his suit — then say,
He should his plighted troth obey,
Troth plighted both with ring and word,
And sworn on crucifix and sword. —
Oh, shame thee, Robert ! I have seen
Thou hast a woman's guardian been!
Even in extremity's dread hour,
When pressed on thee the Southern power,
And safety, to all human sight,
Was only found in rapid flight,
Thou heardst a wretched female plain
In agony of travail-pain,
And thou didst bid thy little band
Upon the instant turn and stand,
And dare the worst the f>e might do,
Rather than, like a knight untrue,
Leave to pursuers merciless
A woman in her last distress. —
And wilt thou now deny thine aid
To an oppressed and injured maid.
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy,
And press his fickle faith on nie^-

THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto IV

So witness Heaven, as true I vow,
Had I those earthly feelings now,
Which could my former bosom move
Ere taught to set its hopes above,
I'd spurn each proffer he could bring,
Till at my feet he laid the ring,
The ring and spousal contract both,
And fair acquittal of his oath,
By her who brooks his perjured scorn,
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn ! " —

With sudden impulse forward sprung
The Page, and on her neck he hung;
Then, recollected instantly,
His head he stooped, and bent his knee,
Kissed twice the hand of Isabel,
Arose, and sudden left the cell. —
The princess, loosened from his hold,
Blushed angry at his bearing bold;

But good King Kobert cried,
" Chafe not — by signs he speaks his mind,
He heard the plan my care designed,

Nor could his transports hide. —
But, sister, now bethink thee well ;
No easy choice the convent cell ;
Trust, I shall play no tyrant part,
Either to force thy hand or heart,
Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn,
Or wrong for thee, the JIaid of Lorn.
But think, — not long the time has been,
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen,
And wouldst the ditties best approve
That told some lay of hapless love.
Now are thy wishes in thy power,
And thou art bent on cloister-bower!
0 ! if our Edward knew the change,
How would his busy satire range,
With many a sarcasm varied still
On woman's wish, and woman's will ! " —

" Brother, I well believe," she said,

" Even so would Edward's part be played.

Kindly in heart, in word severe,

A foe to thought, and grief, and fear,

He holds his humour uncontrolled;

But thou art of another mould.

Say then to Ronald, as I say,

Unless before my feet he lay

The ring which bound the faith he swore,

By Edith freely yielded o'er,

He moves his suit to me no more,

Nor do I promise, even if now

He stood absolved of spousal vow,

Canto P.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 4&i

That I would change my purpose made,
To shelter me in holy shade. —
Brother, for little space, farewell !
To other duties warns the bell." —

'" Lost to the world," King Robert said,

When he had left the royal maid,

" Lost to the world by lot severe,

0 what a gem lies buried here,

Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost,

The buds of fair affection lost ! —

But what have I with love to do?

Far sterner cares my lot pursue.

— Pent in this isle we may not lie,

Nor would it long our wants supply.

Right opposite, the mainland towers

Of my own Turnberry court our powers — •

—Alight not my father's beadsman hoar,

Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore.

Kindle a signal-flame, to show

The time propitious for the blowl —

It shall be so — some friend shall bear

Our mandate with despatch and care;

Edward shall find the messenger.

That fortress ours, the island fleet

May on the coast of Carrick meet. —

O Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine

To wreak thy wrongs in battle line,

To raise my victor head, and see

Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free, —

That glance of bliss is all I crave,

Betwixt my labours and my grave ! " —

Then down the hill he slowly went,

Oft pausing on the steep descent,

And reached the spot where his bold train

Held rustic camp upon the plain.

CANTO FIFTH.

i.

On fair Loch-Eanza streamed the early day,

Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curled
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay

And circling mountains sever from the world.
And there the fisherman his sail unfurled,

The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil,
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirled,

Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil, —
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and coil.

But other duties called each convent maid,

Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell ;

i THE LORD OP TIIE ISLES. {CctAto 7.

Sung were the matins and the mass was said,
And every sister sought her separate cell,

Such was the rule, her rosary to tell.
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer;

The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell

Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair,

As stooped her gentle head in meek devotion there.

She raised her eyes, that duty done,
When glanced upon the pavement stone,
Gemmed and enchased, a golden ring,
Bound to a scroll with silken string,
With few brief words inscribed to tell,
" This for the Lady Isabel."
Within, the writing further bore, —
" 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore,
With this his promise I restore;
To her who can the heart command,
Well may I yield the plighted hand.
And 0 ! for better fortune born,
tfrudge not a passing sigh to mourn
Her who was Edith once of Lorn !" —
One single flash of glad surprise
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes,
But vanished in the blush of shame,
That, as its penance, instant came.
" 0 thought unworthy of my race !
Selfish, ungen'rous, mean, and base,
A moment's throb of joy to own,
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown !—
Thou pledge of vows too well believed,
Of man ingrate and maid deceived,
Think not thy lustre here shall gain
Another heart to hope in vain !
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud,
Where worldly thoughts are overawed,
And worldly splendours sink debased. "—
Then by the cross the ring she placed.

Next rose the thought, — its owner far,
How came it here through bolt and bar ?-
But the dim lattice is ajar —
She looks abroad — the morning dew
A light short step had brushed anew,

And there were foot-prints seen
On the carved buttress rising still,
Till on the mossy window-sill

Their track effaced the green.
The ivy twigs were torn and frayed,
As if some climber's steps to aid. —
But who the hardy messenger,
Whose venturous path these signs infer \-

Cento V.I TIIE LORD OP THE ISLES. 4S9

" Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, draw nigh,

— Nought 'scapes old Mona's curious eye —

What strangers, gentle mother, say,

Have sought these holy walls to-day V —

" None, Lady, none of note or name ;

Only your brother's foot-page came,

At peep of dawn — I prayed him pass

To chapel where they said the mass;

But like an arrow he shot by,

And tears seemed bursting from his eye." —

The truth at once on Isabel,

As darted by a sunbeam, fell. —

'"Tis Edith's self! — her speechless woe,

Her form, her looks, the secret show !

— Instant, good Mona, to the bay

And to my royal brother say,

I do conjure him seek my cell,

With that mute page he loves so -well." —

" What ! know'st thou not his warlike host

At break of day has left our coast]

My old eyes saw them from the tower.

At eve they couched in green-wood bower,

At dawn a bugle-signal, made

By their bold lord, their ranks arrayed;

Up sprung the spears through bush and tree,—

No time for benedicite !

Like deer, that, rousing from their lair,

Just shake the dew-drops from their hair,

And toss their armed crests aloft,

Such matins theirs ! " — " Good mother, soft —

Where does my brother bend his way 'I " —

" As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay,

Across the isle — of barks a score

Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er,

On sudden news, to Carrick shore." —

" If such their 'purpose, deep the need,"

Said anxious Isabel, " of speed !

Call Father Augustin, good, dame." —

The nun obeyed, the Father came.

" Kind Father, hie without delay,
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay !
This message to the Bruce be given;
I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven,
That, till he speak with me, he stay !
Or, if his haste brook no delay,
That he deliver, on my suit,
Into thy charge that stripling mute.
Thus prays his sister Isabel,
For causes more than she may tell —
A way, good father ! — take good heed,
Tbit life and death are on thy speed."

490 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto 7

His cowl the good old priest did on,
Took his piked staff and sandalled shoon,
And, like a palmer bent by eld,
O'er moss and moor his journey held.

Heavy and dull the foot of age,
And rugged was the pilgrimage;
,But none was there beside, whose care
Might such important message bear.
Through birchen copse he wandered slow,
Stunted and sapless, thin and low;
By many a mountain stream he passed,
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast,
Dashing to foam their waters dun,
And sparkling in the summer sun.
Round his grey head the wild curlew
In many a fearless circle flew.
O'er chasms he passed, where fractures wide
Craved wary eye and ample stride;
He crossed his brow beside the stone,
Where Druids erst heard victims groan,
And at the cairns upon the wild,
O'er many a heathen hero piled,
He breathed a timid prayer for those
"Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose.
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he stayed,
There told his hours within the shade,
And at the stream his thirst allayed.
Thence onward journeying slowly still,
As evening closed he reached the hill,
Where, rising through the woodland green,
Old Brodick's Gothic towers were seen.
From Hastings, late their English lord,
Douglas had won thera by the sword.
The sun that sunk behind the isle,
Now tinged them with a parting smile.

But though the beams of light decay,
'Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay.
The liruce's followers crowd the shore,
A nd boats and barges some unmoor,
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar;
Their eyes oft turned where glimmered far
What might have seemed an early star
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light
Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright.
Far distant in the south, the ray
Shone pale amid retiring day;
But as, on Carrick shore,
Dim seen in outline faintly blue,
The shades of evening closer drew
It kindled more and more.

Cailo V.] THE LORD OF TI1E ISLES. 491

The Monk's slow steps now press the sands.
And now amid a scene lie stands,

Full strange to churchman's eye;
Warriors, who, arming for the fight,
Rivet and clasp their harness light.
And twinkling spears, and axes bright,
And helmets flashing high;
Oft, too, with unaccustomed ears, *
A language much unmeet he hears,
While, hastening all on board,
As stormy as the swelling surge
That mixed its roar, the leaders urge
Their followers to the ocean verge,
With many a haughty word.

VIII.

Through that wild throng the Father passed,

And reached the Royal Bruce at last.

He leaned against a stranded boat,

That the approaching tide must float,

And counted every rippling wave,

As higher yet her sides they lave,

And oft the distant fire he eyed,

And closer yet his hauberk tied,

And loosened in its sheath hii brand.

Edward and Lennox were at hand,

Douglas and Ronald had the care

The soldiers to the barks to share. —

The Monk approached and homage paid,

" And art thou come," King Robert said,

" So far to bless us ere we part ] " —

— " My Liege, and with a loyal heart ! —

But other charge I have to tell," —

And spoke the best of Isabel.

— " Now by Saint Giles," the monarch cried,

" This moves me much ! — this morning tide,

I sent the stripling to Saint Bride,

With my commandment there to bide." —

— " Thither he came the portress showed;

But there, my Liege, made brief abode."—

" 'Twas I," said Edward, "found employ

Of nobler import for the boy.

Deep pondering in my anxious mind,

A fitting messenger to find,

To bear thy written mandate o'er

To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore,

I chanced, at early dawn, to pass

The chapel gate to snatch a mass.

T found the stripling on a tomb

Low- seated, weeping for the dnom

That gave his youth to convent-gloom.

I told my purpose, and his eyes

Flashed joyful at the glad surprise.

192 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Cunlo V

He bounded to the skiff, the sail
"Was spread before a prosp'rous gale,
And well iny charge he hath obeyed ;
For, see ! the ruddy signal made,
That. Clifford, with his merry-men all,
Guards carelessly our father's hall." —

" 0 wild of thought, and hard of heart ! "

Answered the Monarch, "on a part

Of such deep danger to employ

A mute, an orphan, and a boy !

Unfit for flight, unlit for strife,

Without a tongue to plead for life !

New, were my right restored by Heaven,

Edward, my crown I would have given,

Ere, thrust on such adventure wild,

I perilled thus the helpless child." —

— Offended half, and half submiss,

" Brother and Liege, of blame like this,"

Edward replied, " I little dreamed.

A stranger messenger, I deemed,

Might safest seek the beadsman's cell,

Where all thy squires are known so well.

Noteless his presence, sharp his sense,

His imperfection his defence.

If seen, none can his errand guess;

If ta'en, his words no tale express —

Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine

Might expiate greater fault than mine. " —

" Rash," said King Robert, " was the deed-

But it is done. — Embark with speed ! —

Good Father, say to Isabel

How this unhappy chance befell ;

If well we thrive on yonder shore,

Soon shall my care her page restore.

Our greeting to our sister bear,

And think of us in mass and prayer. " —

" Ay !" said the Priest, — "while this poor hand

Can chalice raise or cross command,

While my old voice has accents' use,

Can Augustin forget the Bruce ! "

Then to his side Lord Ronald pressed,

And whispered, "Bear thou this request,

That when by Bruce's side I fight,

For Scotland's crown and freedom's right,

The princess grace her knight to bear

Some token of her favouring care;

It shall be shown where England's best

May shrink to see it on my crest.

And for the boy — since weightier care

For royal Bruce the times prepare,

Caiuo 7.} TIIE LOUD OF THE ISLES. 433

The helpless youth is KonalJ's charge,
His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." —
He ceased ; for many an eager hand
Had urged the barges from the strand.
Their number was a score and ten;
They bore thrice three-score chosen men.
With such small force did Bruce at last
The die for death or empire cast !

Now on the darkening main afloat,

Ready and manned rocks every boat;

Beneath their oars the ocean's might

Was dashed to sparks of glimmering light.

Faint and more faint, as off they bore,

Their armour glanced against the shore,

And, mingled with the dashing tide,

Their murmuring voices distant died. —

" God speed them ! " said the Priest, as dark

On distant billows glides each bark ;

" 0 Heaven ! when swords for freedom shine,

And monarch's right, the cause is thine!

Edge doubly every patriot blow !

Beat down the banners of the foe !

And be it to the Nations known,

That Victory is from God alone ! " —

As up the hill his path he drew,

He turned his blessings to renew,

Oft turned, till on the darkened coast

All traces of their course were lost;

Then slowly bent to Brodick tower,

To shelter for the evening hour.

In night the fairy prospects sink,
Where Cumray's isles with verdant link
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde;
The woods of Bute no more descried,
Are gone— and on the placid sea
The rowers plied their task with glee,
While hands that knightly lances bore
Impatient aid the labouring oar.
The half-faced moon shone dim and pale,
And glanced against the whitened sail;
But on that ruddy beacon-light
Each steersman kept the helm aright,
And oft, for such the King's command.
That all at once might reach the strand,
From boat to boat loud shout and hail
Warned them to crowd or slacken sail.
South and by west the armada bore,
And near at length the Carrick shore.
As less and less the distance grows,
High and more high the beacon rose;

494 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto V.

The light, that seemed a twinkling star,

Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far.

Dark-red the heaven above it glowed,

Dark-red the sea beneath it flowed,

Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim,

In blood-red light her islets swim ;

Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave,

Dropped from their crags on plashing wave;

The deer to distant covert drew,

The black-cock deemed it day, and crew.

Like some tall castle given to flame,

O'er half the land the lustre came.

"Now, good my Liege, and brother sage,

What think ye of mine elfin page 1 "—

" Row on !" the noble King replied,

" We'll learn the truth whate'er betide;

Yet sure the beadsman and the child

Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild." —

With that the boats approached the land,

But Edward's grounded on the sand;

The eager knight leaped in the sea

Waist-deep, and first on shore was he,

Though every barge's hardy band

Contended which should gain the land,

When that strange light, which, seen afar,

Seemed steady as the polar star,

Now, like a prophet's fiery chair,

Seemed travelling the realms of air.

Wide o'er the sky the splendour glows,

As that portentous meteor rose;

Helm, axe, and falchion glittered bright,

And in the red and dusky light

His comrade's face each warrior saw,

Nor marvelled it was pale with awe.

Then high in air the beams were lost,

And darkness sunk upon the coast. —

Ronald to Heaven a prayer addressed,

And Douglas crossed his dauntless breast;

" Saint James protect us ! " Lennox cried ;

But reckless Edward spoke aside,

"Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame

Red Comyn's angry spirit came,

Or would thy dauntless heart endure

Once more to make assurance sureT' —

" Hush ! " said the Bruce, " we soon shall know

If this be sorcerer's empty show,

Or stratagem of southern foe.

The moon shines out — upon the sand

Let every leader rank his band. " —

Faintly the moon's pale beams supply
That ruddy light's unnatural dye,

Canto V.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

The dubious cold reflection lay-
On the wet sands and quiet bay.
Beneath the rocks King Robert drew
His scattered files to order due,
Till shield compact and serried spear
In the cool light shone blue and clear.
Then down a path that sought the tide,
That speechless page was seen to glide;
He knelt him lowly on the sand,
And gave a scroll to Robert's hand.
" A torch," the Monarch cried, " What, ho 1
Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know." —
But evil news the letters bare;
The Clifford's force was strong and ware.
Augmented, too, that very morn,
By mountaineers who came with Lorn.
Long harrowed by oppressor's hand,
Courage and faith had fled the land,
And over Carrick, dark and deep,
Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. —
Cuthbert had seen that beacon-flame,
Unwitting from what source it cauie.
Doubtful of perilous event,
Edward's mute messenger he sent,
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er,
To warn him from the fatal shore.

As round the torch the leaders crowd,
Bruce read these chilling news aloud.
" What counsel, nobles, have we now ? —
To ambush us in green-wood bough,
And take the chance which fate may send
To bring our enterprise to end,
Or shall we turn us to the main
As exiles, and embark again }" —
Answered fierce Edward, "Hap what may,
In Carrick, Carrick's lord must stay.
I would not minstrels told the tale.
Wild-fire or meteor made us quail."—
Answered the Douglas, " If my Liege
May win yon walls by storm or siege,
Then were each brave and patriot heart
Kindled of new for loyal part." —
Answered Lord Ronald, " Not for shame
Would I that aged Torquil came,
And found, for all our empty boast,
Without a blow we fled the coast.
I will not credit that this land,
So famed for warlike heart aud hand,
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce,
Will long with tyrants hold a truce." —
" Prove we our fate— the brunt we'll bide !
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried;

£96 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto V.

So said, so vowed, the leaders all;
So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall,
Since the bold Southern make their home,
The hour of payment soon shall come,
When, with a rough and rugged host,
Clifford may reckon to his cost.
Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell,
I'll lead where we may shelter well." —

Now ask you whence that wondrous light,

Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight 1 —

It ne'er was known — yet grey-haired eld

A superstitious credence held,

That never did a mortal hand

Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ;

Nay, and that on the self- same night

When Bruce crossed o'er, still gleams the light.

Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor,

And glittering wave and crimsoned shore —

But whether beam celestial, lent

By Heaven to aid the King's descent,

Or fire hell-kindled from beneath,

To lure him to defeat and death,

Or were it but some meteor strange,

Of such as oft through midnight range,

Startling the traveller late and lone,

I know not — and it ne'er was known.

Now up the rocky pass they drew,

And Ronald, to his promise true,

Still made his arm the stripling's stay,

To aid him on the rugged way.

" Now cheer thee, simple Amadine !

Why throbs that silly heart of thine ] "—

— That name the pirates to their slave,

(In Gaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave —

" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm ?

Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ? "

Hath not the wild bull's treble hide

This targe for thee and me supplied ?

Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel 1

And, trembler, canst thou terror feel 1

Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart;

From Bonald's guard thou shalt not part."—

— 0 ! many a shaft, at random sent,

Finds mark the archer little meant 1

And many a word, at random spoken,

May soothe or wound a heart that's brokeD !

Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified,

Close drew the page to .Ronald's side;

A wild delirious thrill of joy

Was in that hour of agony,

Cfln/o &l THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 497

As up the steepy pass he strove,—
Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love !

The barrier of that iron shore,
The rock's steep ledge, is now climbed o'er;
And from the castle's distant wall,
From tower to tower the warders call:
The sound swings over land and sea,
And marks a watchful enemy. —
They gained the Chase, a wide domain,
Left for the Castle's sylvan reign,
(Seek not the scene — the axe, the plough.
The boor's dull fence, have marred it now;)
But then, soft swept in velvet green
The plain with many a glade between,
Whose tangled alleys far invade
The depth of the brown forest shade.
Ilere the tall fern obscured the lawn,
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn;
There, tufted close with copse- wood green,
Was many a swelling hillock seen;
And all around was verdure meet
For pressure of the fairies' feet.
The glossy holly loved the park,
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,
And many an old oak, worn and bare,
With all its shivered boughs, was there.
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell.
The gallant Monarch sighed to see
These glades so loved in childhood free,
Bethinking that, as outlaw now,
He ranged beneath the forest bough.

Fast o'er the moon-lit Chase they sped.
Well knew the band that measured tread^
When, in retreat or in advance,
The serried warriors move at once;
And evil were the luck, if dawn
Descried them on the open lawn.
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross,
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss.
From the exhausted page's brow
Cold drops of toil are streaming now;
With effort faint and lengthened pause,
His weary step the stripling draws.
" Nay, droop not yet 1 " the warrior said;
" Come, let me give thee ease and aid I
Strong are mine arms, and little care
A weight so slight as thine to bear. —
What ! wilt thou not \— capricious boy ! —
Then thine own limbs and strength employ.

32

408 TIIB LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto V.

Pass but tln3 night, and pass thy care,
I'll place thee with a lady fair,
Where thou sbalt tune thy lute to tell
How Ronald loves fair Isabel ! "-
Worn out, disheartened, and dismayed,
Here Amadine let go the plaid ;
His trembling limbs their aid refuse, —
He sunk among the midnight dews !

What may be done ] — the night is gone —

The Bruce's band moves swiftly on —

Eternal shame, if at the brunt

Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! —

" See yonder oak, within whose trunk

Decay a darkened cell hath sunk:

Enter, and rest thee there a space,

Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face.

I will not be, believe me, far ;

But must not quit the ranks of war.

Well will I mark the bosky bourne,

And soon, to guard thee hence, return. —

Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy !

But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." —

In sylvan lodging close bestowed,

He placed the page, and onward strode

With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook,

And soon the marching band o'ertook.

Thus strangely left, long sobbed and wept
The page, till, wearied out, he slept —
A rough voice waked his dream — " NajT, here,
Here by this thicket, passed the deer —
Beneath that oak old Ryno stayed —
What have we here 1— a Scottish plaid,
And in its folds a stripling laid !
Come forth ! thy name and business tell ! —
What, silent ] — then I guess thee well,
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell,
Wafted from Arran yester morn —
Come, comrades, we will straight return.
Our lord may choose the rack should teach
To this young lurcher use of speech.
Thy bowstring, till I bind him fast." —
" Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ;
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not ;
"lis a fair stripling, though a Scot." —
The hunters to the castle sped,
And there the hapless captive led.

XXIII.

Stout Clifford in the castle-court
Prepared him for the morning sport ;

Car.lo V.} THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 4JJ9

And now -with Lorn held deep discourse,

Now gave command for hound and horse.

War-steeds and palfreys pawed the ground.

And many a deer-dog howled around.

To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word

Replying to that Southern Lord,

Mixed with this clanging din, might seem

The phantasm of a fevered dream.

The tone upon his ringing ears

Came like the sounds which fancy hears,

When in rude waves or roaring winds

Some words of woe the muser finds,

Until more loudly and more near,

Their speech arrests the page's ear.

" And was she thus," said Clifford, " lost ]

The priest should rue it to his cost !

What says the Monk ?"— " The holy Sire

Owns, that, in masquer's quaint attire,

She sought his skill", disguised, unknown

To all except to him alone.

But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn

Laid them aboard that very morn,

And pirates seized her for their prey.

He proffered ransom -gold to pay,

And they agreed — but, ere told o'er,

The winds blow loud, the billows roar ;

They severed, and they met no more.

He deems — such tempest vexed the coast- -

Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost.

— So let it be, with the disgrace

And scandal of her lofty race !

Thrice better she had ne'er been bom,

Than brought her infamy on Lorn ! "■ —

Lord Clifford now the captive spied : —

" Whom, Herbert, hast thou here I" he cried,

" A spy we seized within the Chase,

A hollow oak his lurking-place." —

" What tidings can the youth afford ?" —

" He plays the mute." — " Then noose a cord-

Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom

For his plaid's sake." — " Clan-Colla's loom,"

Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace

Rather the vesture than the face,

" Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine ;

Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine.

Give him, if my advice you crave,

His own scathed oak; and let him wave

In air, unless, by terror wrung,

A frank confession find his tongue. —

Nor shall he die without his rite ;

— Thou, Angus R >y, attend the sight,

600 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto Y.

And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath,
As they convey him to his death." —
" 0 brother ! cruel to the last !" —
Through the poor captive's bosom passed
The thought; but, to his purpose true,
He said not, though he sighed, " Adieu ! "

And will he keep his purpose still,

In sight of that last closing ill,

When one poor breath, one single word,

May freedom, safety, life, afford 1

Can he resist the instinctive call,

For life that bids us barter all? —

Love, strong as death, his heart hath steeled,

His nerves hath strung — he will not yield !

Since that poor breath, that little word,

May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. —

Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,

The grisly headsman's by his side;

Along the green-wood Chase they bend,

And now their march has ghastly end !

That old and shattered oak beneath,

They destine for the place of death.

— What thoughts are his, while all in vain

His eye for aid explores the plain ]

What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear,

He hears the death-prayer muttered near ?

And must he die such death accurst,

Or will that bosom-secret burst ]

Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew,

His trembling lips are livid blue ;

The agony of parting life

Has nought to match that moment's strife

But other witnesses are nigh,

Who mock at fear, and death defy !

Soon as the dire lament was played,

It waked the lurking ambuscade.

The Island Lord looked forth, and spied

The cause, and loud in fury cried,

" By Heaven they lead the page to die,

And mock me in his agony !

They shall abye it !"— On his arm

Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall not harm

A ringlet of the stripling's hair ;

But, till I give the word, forbear.

— Douglas, lead fifty of our force

Up yonder hollow water-course,

And couch thee midway on the wold,

Between the flyers and their Hold.

A spear above the copse displayed,

Be signal of the ambush made.

Canto KJ THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 601

■ — Edward, with forty spearmen, straight
Through yonder copse approach the gate,
And, when thou hear'st the battle din,
Rush forward, and the passage win,
Secure the drawbridge — storm the port —
And man and guard the castle court. —
The rest move slowly forth with me,
In shelter of the forest tree,
Till Douglas at his post I see." —

Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compelled to wait the signal blown,
Hid, and scarce hid, by green-wood bough,
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now,
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue,
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. —
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye,
Sees the dark death-train moving by,
And heedful measures oft the space
The Douglas and his band must trace,
Ere they can reach their destined ground.
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound,
Now cluster round the direful tree
That slow and solemn company,
While hymn mistuned and muttered prayer
The victim for his fate prepare. —
What glances o'er the greenwood shade 1 —
The spear that marks the ambuscade ! —
"Now, noble Chief ! I leave thee loose ;
Upon them, Ronald ! " said the Bruce.

" The Bruce, the Bruce !" to well-known cry
LTis native rocks and woods reply.
" The Bruce, the Bruce !" in that dread word
The knell of hundred deaths was heard.
The astonished Southern gazed at first,
Where the wild tempest was to burst,
That waked in that presaging name.
Before, behind, around it came !
Half-armed, surprised, on every side
Hemmed in, hewed down, they bled and died.
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged,
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged 1
Full soon the few who fought were sped,
Nor better was their lot who fled,
And met, 'mid terror's wild career,
The Douglas's redoubted spear !
Two hundred yeomen on that morn
The castle left, and none return.

Not on their flight pressed Ronald's brand,
A gentler duty claimed his hand.

502 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. ICanto V.

He raised the page, where on the plain
His fear had sunk him with the slain :
And twice, that morn, surprise well near
Betrayed the secret kept by fear.
Once, when, with life returning, came
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name,
And hardly recollection drowned
The accents in a murmuring sound ;
And once, when scarce he could resist
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest,
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
But then the Bruce's bugle blew,
For martial work was yet to do.

A harder task fierce Edward waits.
Ere signal given, the castle gate3

His fury had assailed ;
Such was his wonted reckless mood,
Yet desperate valour oft made good,
Even by its daring, venture rude,

Where prudence might have failed.
Upon the bridge his strength he threw,
And struck the iron chain in two

By which its planks arose ;
The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold ledge,
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge !

The gate they may not close.
Well fought the Southern in the fray,
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day,
But stubborn Edward forced his way

Against a hundred foes.
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, the Bruce I "
No hope or in defence or truce,

Fresh combatants pour in ;
Mad with success, and drunk with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,

And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,
And limbs were lopped and life-blood poured,
The cry of death and conflict roared,

And fearful was the din !
The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamoured the dogs till turrets rung,

Nor sunk the fearful cry,
Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groaned in their agony !

XXXII.

The valiant Clifford is no more, —

On Ronald's broadsword streamed his gore

But better hap had he of Lorn,

Who, by the foemau backward borne,

Canto V.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 503

Yet gained with slender train the port,
Where lay his bark beneath the fort,

And cut the cable loose.
Short were his shrift in that debate,
That hour of fury and of fate,

If Lorn encountered Bruce !
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rung out,

The nigged vaults replied ;
And from the donjon tower on high,
The men of Carrick may descry
Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry

Of silver, waving wide !

The Bruce hath won his father's hall !

— " Welcome brave friends and comrades all,

Welcome to mirth and joy !
The first, the last, is welcome here,
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer,

To this poor speechless boy.
Great God ! once more my sire's abode
Is mine — behold the floor I trode

In tottering infancy !
And there the vaulted arch, whose sound
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
In boyhood, and that rung around

To youth's unthinking glee !
0 first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven,
Then to my friends, my thanks be given ! "—
He paused a space, his brow he crossed — ■
Then on the board his sword he tossed,
Yet streaming hot; with Southern gore
From hilt to point 'twas crimsoned o'er.

" Bring here," he said, " the mazers four,

My noble fathers loved of yore.

Thrice let them circle round the board,

The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored 1

And he whose lips shall touch the wine,

Without a vow as true as mine,

To hold both lands and life at nought,

Until her freedom shall be bought, —

Be brand of a disloyal Scot,

And lasting infamy his lot!

Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee

Is brief, we'll spend it joyously !

Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,

When betwixt storm and storm he gleamB.

Well is our country's work begun,

But more, far more, must yet be done ! —

Speed messengers the country through;

Arouse old friends, and gather new;

504 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Ctanto VI

Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
House the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettricke's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts !
Call all, call all ! from Reedswair-path,
To the wild confines of Cape Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing ! " —

CANTO SIXTH.

0 who, that shared them, ever shall forget

The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,

Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime

Hailed news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soared at length sublime..

And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watched Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun !

0 these were honrs, when thrilling joy repaid

A long, long course of darkness, doubts and fears !
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed,

The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears.
That tracked with terror twenty rolling years,

All was forgot in that blithe jubilee !
Her down-cast eye even pale Affliction rears,

To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee,
That hailed the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty !

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode,

When 'gainst the invaders turned the battle's scale,
When Brace's banner had victorious flowed

O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,

And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,
When Randolph's war-cry swelled the southern gale,

And many a fortress, town, and tower was won,
And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

Blithe tidings flew from Baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell,
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,

A votaress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and woollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,

That stern and rigid vow,

Canto VI.] THE LORD OF THE I3LE3. 505

Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glistened in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the Bold ? —
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayer* ?
No sister she of convent shade;
So say these locks in lengthened braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce 's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

Believe, his father's castle won,
And his bold enterprise begun,
That Bruce's earliest cares restore
The speechless page to Arran's shore:
Nor think that long the quaint disguise
Concealed her from a sister's eyes;
And sister-like in love they dwell
In that lone convent's silent cell.
There Bruce's slow assent allows
Fair Isabel the veil and vows;
And there, her sex's dress regained,
The lovely maid of Lorn remained,
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far
Resounded with the din of war;
And many a month, and many a day,
In calm seclusion wore away.

These days, these months, to years had worn,
When tidings of high weight were borne

To that lone island's shore ; —
Of all the Scottish conquests made
By the first Edward's ruthless blade,

His son retained no more,
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguered by King Robert's powers;

And they took term of truce,
If England's King should not relieve
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve,

To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused— on every side
Courier and post and herald hied,

To summon prince and peer,
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,

With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh — they mustered fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshalled for the field ;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England"s hardy archers came;

50G TIIE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto VI,

The land they trod seemed all on flame,

With banner, blade, and shield !
And not famed England's powers alone,
llenowned in arms, the summons own;

For Neustria's knights obeyed,
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,
And Connoght poured from waste and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude

Dark Eth O'Connor swayed.

Right to devoted Caledon

The storm of war rolls slowly on,

With menace deep and dread;
So the dark clouds, with gathering power,
Suspend .a while the threatened shower,
Till every peak and summit lower

Round the pale pilgrim's head.
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye
King Robert marked the tempest nigh !

Resolved the brunt to bide,
His royal summons warned the land,
That all who owned their King's command
Should instant take the spear and brand,

To combat at his side.
0 who may tell the sons of fame,
That at King Robert's bidding came,

To battle for the right !
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's- Moss,

All bouned them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells,
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells;
But further tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.
These in her cloister walk, next morn,
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.

" My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere

Hath been to Isabel 1 —
Judge then the sorrow of my heart,
When I must say the words, We part !

The cheerless convent-cell
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free

On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed,
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high Maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,

Canto 17] TIIE LORD OF THE ISLES. 507

Earnest and anxious hath he looked
How Ronald's heart the message brooked,
Tliat gave him, with her last farewell,
The charge of Sister Isabel,
To think upon thy better right,
And keep the faith his promise plight.
Forgive him, for thy sister's sake,
At first if vain repinings wake —

Long since that mood is gone :
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he blames —

Forgive him for thine own ! " —

" No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower

Will I again as paramour" —

" Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,

Until my final tale be said ! —

The good King Robert would engage

Edith once more his elfin page,

By her own heart, and her own eye,

Her lover's penitence to try —

Safe in his royal charge, and free,

Should such thy final purpose be,

Again unknown to seek the cell,

And live and die with Isabel." —

Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye

Might have some glance of policy;

Dunstafl'nage had the monarch ta'en,

And Lorn had owned King Robert's reign ;

Her brother had to England fled,

And there in banishment was dead;

Ample, through exile, death, and flight,

0 er tower and land was Edith's right;

This ample right o'er tower and land

Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.

Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek
Pleasure, and shame, and fear bespeak !
Yet much the reasoning Edith made;
" Her sister's faith she must upbraid,
Who gave such secret, dark and dear,
In council to another's ear.
Why should she leave the peaceful cell ]—
How should she part with Isabel? —
How wear that strange attire agen ? —
How risk herself 'midst martial men ? —
And how be guarded on the way ? —
At least she might entreat delay." —
Kind Isabel, with secret smile,
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.

508 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto VI.

Oh, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake,

The aspen's trembling leaves must shake;

When beams the sun through April's shower,

It needs must bloom, the violet flower;

And Love, howe'er the maiden strive,

Must with reviving hope revive 1

A thousand soft excuses came,

To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame.

Pledged by their sires in earliest youth,

He had her plighted faith and truth —

Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command,

And she, beneath his royal hand,

A ward in person and in land : —

And, last, she was resolved to stay

Only brief space — one little day —

Close hidden in her safe disguise

From all, but most from Ronald's eyes —

But once to see him more ! — nor blame

Her wish — to hear him name her name ! —

Then, to bear back to solitude

The thought, he had his falsehood rued !

But Isabel, who long had seen

Her pallid cheek and pensive mien,

And well herself the cause might know,

Though innocent, of Edith's woe,

Joyed, generous, that revolving time

Gave means to expiate the crime.

High glowed her bosom as she said,

" Well shall her sufferings be repaid !" —

Now came the parting hour — a band

From Arran's mountains left the land ;

Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the care

The speechless Amadine to bear

To Bruce, with honour, as behoved

To page the monarch dearly loved.

The King had deemed the maiden bright

Should reach him long before the fight,

But storms and fate her course delay :

It was on eve of battle-day,

When o'er the Gillie's-hill she rode.

The landscape like a furnace glowed,

And far as e'er the eye was borne,

The lances waved like autumn-corn.

In battles four beneath their eye,

The forces of King Robert lie.

And one below the hill was laid,

Reserved for rescue and for aid ;

And three, advanced, formed vaward-line,

'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine.

Detached was each, yet each so nigh

As well might mutual aid supply.

Canto 71.1 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. .*t09

Beyond, the Southern host appears,
A boundless wilderness of spears,
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy.
Thick flashing in the evening beam,
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ;
And where the heaven joined with the hill,
Was distant armour flashing still,
So wide, so far, the boundless host
Seemed in the blue horizon lost.

Down from the hill the maiden passed,
At the wild show of war aghast ;
And traversed first the rearward host,
Reserved for aid where needed most.
The men of Carrick and of Ayr,
Lennox and Lanark too, were there,

And all the western land ;
With these the valiant of the Isles
Beneath their chieftains ranked their files,

In many a plaidtd band.
There, in the centre, proudly raised,
The Bruce's royal standard blazed,
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore
A galley driven by sail and oar.
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed,
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid

By these Hebrideans worn ;
But 0 ! unseen for three long years,
Dear was the garb of mountaineers

To the fair Maid of Lorn !
For one she looked — but he was far
Busied amid the ranks of war —
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She marked his banner boldy fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,
And thought on battle's desperate chance.

To centre of the vaward line
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.
Armed all on foot, that host appears
A serried mass of glimmering spears.
There stood the Marchers' warlike band,
The warriors there of Lodon's land ;
Ettricke and Liddel bent the yew,
A band of archers fierce, though few ;
The men of Nith and Annan's vale,
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale; —
The dauntless Douglas these obey,
And the young Stuart's gentle sway.
North-eastward by Saint Ninian's shrine,
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine

BIO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. IVarito VI

The warriors whom the hardy North
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth.
The rest of Scotland's war-array
With Edward Bruce to westward lay,
Where Bannock, with his broken bank
And deep ravine, protects their flank.
Behind them, screened by sheltering wood,
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood :
His men-at-arms bear mace and lance,
And plumes that wave, and helms that glance.
Thus fair divided by the King,
Centre, and right, and left- ward wing,
Composed his front ; nor distant far
Was strong reserve to aid the war.
And 'twas to front of this array,
Iler guide and Edith made their way.

XIII.

Here must they pause ; for, in advance

As far as one might pitch a lance,

The Monarch rode along the van.

The foe's approaching force to scan,

Ilis line to marshal and to range,

And ranks to square, and fronts to chaDge.

Alone he rode — from head to heel

Sheathed in his ready arms of steel ;

Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight,

But, till more near the shock of fight,

lleining a palfrey low and light.

A diadem of gold was set

Above his bright steel basinet,

And clasped within its glittering twine

Was seen the glove of Argentine;

Truncheon or leading staff he lacks,

Hearing, instead, a battle-axe.

lie ranged his soldiers for the fight,

Accoutred thus, in open sight

Of either host.— Three bowshots far,

Paused the deep front of England's war,

And rested on their arms a while,

To close and rank their warlike file,

And hold high council, if that night

Should view the strife, or dawning light.

XIV.

0 gay, yet fearful to behold,

Flashing with steel and rough with gold,

And bristled o'er with bills and speare,
With plumes and pennons waving fair,
Was that bright battle-front ! for there

Rode England's King and peers :
And who, that saw that monarch ride,
His kingdom battled by his side,
Could then his direful doom foretell ! —
Fair was his seat in knightly sclle,

Canto 17.1 THE LORD OF THE ISLUS. 51]

And in Lis sprightly eye was set

Some spark of the Plantagenet.

Though light and wandering was Lis glance,

It flashed at sight of shield and lance.

" Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine,

Yon knight who marshals thus their line?" —

" The tokens on his helmet tell

The Bruce, my Liege: I know him well."—

" And shall the audacious traitor brave

The presence where our banners wave ]" —

" So please my Liege," said Argentine,

" Were he but horsed on steed like mine,

To give him fair and knightly chance,

I would adventure forth my lance." —

" In battle-day," the King replied,

" Nice tourney rules are set aside.

— Still must the rebel dare our wrath ?

Set on him — sweep him from our path ! "—

And, at King Edward's signal, soon

Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry Boune.

Of Hereford's high blood he came,

A race renowned for knightly fame.

He burned before his Monarch's eye

To do some deed of chivalry.

He spurred his steed, he couched his lance,

And darted on the Bruce at once.

— As motionless as rocks, that bide

The wrath of the advancing tide,

The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat high,

And dazzled was each gazing eye —

The heart had hardly time to think,

The eyelid scarce had time to wink,

While on the King, like flash of flame,

Spurred to full speed the war-horse came !

The partridge may the falcon mock,

If that slight palfrey stand the shock —

But, swerving from the knight's career,

Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear.

Onward the baffled warrior bore

His course — but soon his course was o'er I —

High in his stirrups stood the King,

And gave his battle-axe the swing.

Right on De Boune, the whiles he passed.

Fell that stern dint— the first — the last!—

Such strength upon the blow was put,

The helmet crashed like hazel-nut ;

The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp,

AY as shivered to the gauntlet grasp.

Springs from the blow the startled horse,

Drops to the plaio the lifeless corse ;

— First of that fatal field, how soon,

How sudden, fell the fierce De Bouue I

512 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canio VI

One pitying glance the Monarch sped,
Where on the field his foe lay dead;
Then gently turned his palfrey's head,
And, pacing back his sober way.
Slowly he gained his own array.
There round their King the leaders crowd,
And blame his recklessness aloud.
That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear
A life so valued and so dear.
His broken weapon's shaft surveyed
The King, and careless answer made, —
" My loss may pay my folly's tax ;
I've broke my trusty battle-axe." —
'Twas then Fitz-Louis, bending low,
Did Isabel's commission show ;
Edith, disguised, at distance stands,
And hides her blushes with her hands.
The monarch's brow has changed its hue,
Away the gory axe he threw,
While to the seeming page he drew,

Clearing war's terrors from his eye,
Her hand with gentle ease he took,
With such a kind protecting look,

As to a weak and timid boy
Might speak, that elder brother's care
A nd elder brother's love were there.

" Fear not," he said, " young Arnadine !"

Then whispered, " Still that name be thine.

Fate plays her wonted fantasy,

Kind Arnadine, with thee and me,

And sends thee here in doubtful hour.

But soon we are beyond her power ;

For on this chosen battle-plain,

Victor or vanquished, I remain.

I)o thou to yonder hill repair ;

The followers of our host are there,

And all who may not weapons bear. —

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. —

Joyful we meet, if all go well ;

If not, in Arran's holy cell

Thou must take part with Isabel;

For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn

Not to regain the Maid of Lorn,

(The bliss on earth he covets most,)

Would he forsake his battle-post,

Or shun the fortune that may fall

To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. —

But hark ! some news these trumpets tell ;

Forgive my haste — farewell — farewell."

And in a lower voice he said,

" Be of good cheer— farewell, sweet maid ! "-

Canto r/.j THE LORD OF TUB ISLES. 613

" What train of dust, with trumpet-sound

And glimmering spears, is wheeling round

Our leftward flank ?" — the Monarch cried,

To Moray's Earl, who rode beside :

" Lo ! round thy station pass the foes !

Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." —

The Earl his visor closed and said,

" My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.

Follow, my household ! " — And they go

Like lightning on the advancing foe.

" My Liege," said noble Douglas then,

" Earl Randolph has but one to ten :

Let me go forth his band to aid ! " —

— " Stir not. The error he hath made,

Let him amend it as he may ;

I will not weaken mine array." —

Then loudly rose the conflict-cry,

And Douglas's brave heart swelled high, —

" My Liege," he said, " with patient ear

I must not Moray's death-knell hear ! " —

" Then go, but speed thee back again." —

Forth sprung the Douglas with his train :

But, when they won a rising hill,

He bade his followers hold them still. —

" See, see ! the routed Southerns fly I

The Earl hath won the victory.

Lo ! where yon steeds run masterlesa,

His banner towers above the press.

Rein up; our presence would impair

The fame we come too late to share." —

Back to the host the Douglas rode,

And soon glad tidings are abroad,

That, Dayncourt by Btout Randolph slain,

His followers fled with loosened rein. —

That skirmish closed the busy day,

And couched in battle's prompt array,

Each army on theb>weapons lay.

It was a night of lovely June,

High rode in cloudless blue the moon,

Demayet smiled beneath her ray ;
Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And, twined in links of silver bright,

Her winding river lay.
Ah, gentle planet ! other sight
Shall greet thee, next returning night.
Of broken arms and banners tore,
And marshes dark with human gore,
And piles of slaughtered men and horse,
And Forth that floats the frequent corse,
And many a wounded wretch to plain
Beneath tby silver light in vain !

33

614 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto \1

But now, from England's host, the cry

Thou hear'st of wassail revelry,

While from the Scottish legions pass

The murmured prayer, the early mass !-

Here, numbers had presumption given ;

There, bands o'ermatched sought aid from Heaven.

On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands
The battle-field, fair Edith stands,
With serf and page unfit for war,
To e)re the conflict from afar.
0 ! with what doubtful agony
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! —
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun,
And glistens now Demayet dun ;
Is it the lark that caroh shrill,

Is it the bittern's early hum ]
No ! — distant, but increasing still,
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill,

With the deep murmur of the drum.
Responsive from the Scottish host,
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed,
His breast and brow each soldier crossed,

And started from the ground :
Armed and arrayed for instant fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire, and knight,
And in the pomp of battle bright

The dread battalia frowned.

Now onward, and in open view,
The countless ranks of England drew,
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide,
When the rough west hath chafed his pride
And his deep roar sends challenge wide

To all that bar3 his way !
In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them rode,
And midmost of the phalanx broad
The Monarch held his sway.
Beside him many a war-horse fumes,
Around him waves a sea of plumes,
Where many a knight in battle known,
And some who spurs had first braced on,
And deemed that fight should see them won,

King Edward's hests obey.
De Argentine attends his side,
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride,
Selected champions from the train,
To wait upon his bridle-rein.
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed —
— At once, before his sight amazed,

Sunk banner, spear, and shield ;
Each weapon-point is downward sent,

Ccmto YJ.] THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 515

Each warrior to the ground is bent.
" The rebels, Argentine, repent !

For pardon they have kneeled."—
"Ay ! — but they bend to other powers,
And other pardon sue than ours !
See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands,
And blesses them with lifted hands !
Upon the spot where they have kneeled
These men will die, or win the field." —
— " Then prove we if they die or win !
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." —

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high,

Just as the Northern ranks arose,
Signal for England's archery

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,

And raised his left hand high ;
To the right ear the cords they bring —
— At once ten thousand bowstrings ring,

Ten thousand arrows fly !
Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot ;

As fiercely and as fast
Forth whistling came the grey-goose wing
As the wild hailstones pelt and ring

Adown December's blast.
Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide,
Nor Lowland mail, that storm may bide ;
Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered pride,

If the fell shower may last !
Upon the right, behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted, stood

The Scottish chivalry ; —
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gained the plain ;

Then, "Mount ye gallants free !"
He cried ; and, vaulting from the ground,
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they toss,
As springs the wild-fire from the moss ;
The shield hangs down on every breast,
Each ready lance is in the rest,

And loud shouts Edward Bruce.—
" Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe !
We'll tame the terrors of their bow,

And cut the bowstring loose 1 " —

XXIII.

Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks,
They rushed among the archer ranks.

616 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto VI

No spears were there the shock to let,

No stakes to turn the charge were set,

And how shall yeomen's armour slight

Stand the long lance and mace of might ]

Or what may their short swords avail,

'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail ]

Amid their ranks the chargers sprung,

High o'er their heads the weapons swung,

And shriek and groan and vengeful shout

Give note of triumph and of rout I

A while, with stubborn hardihood,

Their English hearts the strife made good;

Borne down at length on every side.

Compelled to flight, they scatter wide. —

Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,

And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee !

The broken bows of Bannock's shore

Shall in the greenwood ring no more !

Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now

The maids may twine the summer bough,

May northward look with longing glance,

For those that wont to lead the dance,

For the blithe archers look in vain !

Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en,

Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slam,

They cumber Bannock's bloody plain.

The King with scorn beheld their flight.
" Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight?
Each braggart churl could boast before,
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore 1
Fitter to plunder chase or park,
Than make a manly foe their mark. —
Forward, each gentleman and knight !
Let gentle blood show generous might,
And chivalry redeem the fight ! " —
To rightward of the wild affray,
The field showed fair and level way;

But, in mid-space, the Bruce's care
Had bored the ground with many a pit,
With turf and brushwood hidden yet,
That formed a ghastly snare.
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came,
With spears in rest and hearts on flame,

That panted for the shock 1
With blazing crests and banners spread,
And trumpet clang and clamour dread,
The wide plain thundered to their tread,

As far as Stirling rock.
Down ! down ! in headlong overthrow,
Horsemen and horse, the foremost go,

Wild floundering on the field !
The first are in destruction's gorge,

Canto VI.] THE LORD OF THE ISLE3. 517

Their followers wildly o'er them urge; —

The knightly helm and shield,
The mail, the acton, and the spear,
Strong hand, high heart, are useless here !
Loud from the mass confused the cry
Of dying warriors swells on high,
And steeds that shriek in agony !
They came like mountain-torrent red,
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;
They broke like that same torrent's wave,
When swallowed by a darksome cave.
Billows on billows burst and boil,
Maintaining still the stern turmoil,
And to their wild and tortured groan
.Each adds new terrors of his own !

Too strong in courage and in might
Was England yet, to yield the fight.

Her noblest all are here;
Names that to fear were never known,
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton,

And Oxford's famed De Yere.
There Gloster plied the bloody sword,
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,

Bottetourt and Sanzavere,
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame —
Names known too well in Scotland's war,
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,
Blazed broader yet in after years,
At Crecy red and fell Poitiers.
Pembroke with these, and Argentine,
Brought up the rearward battle-line.
With caution o'er the ground they tread,
Slippery with blood and piled with dead,
Till hand to hand in battle set,
The bills with spears and axes met,
And, closing dark on every side,
Raged the full contest far and wide.
Then was the strength of Douglas tried,
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride,
And well did Stewart's actions grace
The sire of Scotland's royal race !

Firmly they kept their ground;
As firmly England onward pressed,
And down went many a noble crest,
And rent was many a valiant breast,

And Slaughter revelled round.

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set,
Unceasing blow by blow was met;
The groans of those who fell

518 THE LOED OF THE ISLES. [Car.ic VI

Were drowned amid the shriller clang
That from the blades and harness rang,

And in the battle-yell.
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southron fierce and hardy Scot; —
And 0 ! amid that waste of life,
What various motives fired the strife !
The aspiring Noble bled for fame,
The Patriot for his country's claim;
This Knight his youthful strength to prove.
And that to win his lady's love;
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood,
From habit some, or hardihood.
But ruffian stern, and soldier good,

The noble and the slave,
From various cause the same wild road,
On the same bloody morning, trode,

To that dark inn, — the Grave 1

The tug of strife to flag begins,_
Though neither loses yet nor wins.
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow;
Nor less had toiled each Southern knight,
From morn till midday in the fight.
Strong Egremont for air must gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
And Montague must quit his spear,
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Yere !
The blows of Berkley fall less fast,
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast

Hath lost its lively tone;
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,
And Percy's shout was fainter heard,

" My merry-men fight on ! " —

Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye,
T he slackening of the storm couid spy.
" One effort more, and Scotland's free 1
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee

Is firm as Ailsa-rock;
Rush on with Highland sword and targe,
I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge;
Now, forward to the shock !" —
At once the spears were forwardthrown,
Against the sun the broadswords shone;
The pibroch lent its maddening tone,
And loud King Robert's voice was known —
" Oarrick, press on — they fail ! they fail 1
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail,
The foe is fainting fast !

Canto 71.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 513

Each strike for parent, child, and wife,
For Scotland, liberty, and life,
The battle cannot last! " —

The fresh and desperate onset bore
The foes three furlongs back and more,
Leaving their noblest in their gore.

Alone, De Argentine
Yet bears on high Lis red-cross shield,
Gathers the relics of the field,
Renews the ranks where they have reeled,

And still makes good the line.
Brief strife, but fierce, his efforts raise,
A bright but momentary blaze.
Fair Edith heard the Southron shout,
Beheld them turning from the rout,
Heard the wild call their trumpets S2nt,
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament.
That rallying force, combined anew,
Appeared, in her distracted view,

To hem the isles-men round;
" 0 God I the combat they renew,

And is no rescue found !
And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'erthrown,
0 ! are your hearts of flesh or stone ! " —

The multitude that watched afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight,
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right;
Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk,
Bondsman and serf ; even female Land
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand;
But, when mute Amadine they heard
Give to their zeal his signal-word,

A frenzy fired the throng; —
" Portents and miracles impeach
Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach —
And He that gives the mute his speech
Can bid the weak be strong.
T? us, as to our lords, are given
A native earth, a promised heaven;
To us, as to our lords, belongs
The vengeance for our nation's wrongs;
The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, warms
Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms ! "-
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, —
And mimic ensigns high they rear,
And, like a bannered host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied war.

520 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. [Canto VI.

Already scattered o'er the plain,
Reproof, command, and counsel vain,
The rearward squadrons fled amain,

Or made but doubtful stay; —
But when they marked the seeming show
Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe,

The boldest broke array.

0 give their hapless prince his due !
In vain the royal Edward threw

His person 'mid the spears,
Cried " Fight ! " to terror and despair,
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,

And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine, until
They gained the summit of the. hill,

But quitted there the train: —
" In yonder field a gage I left, —

1 must not live of fame bereft;

I needs must turn again.
Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,

I know his banner welL
Grod send my Sovereign joy and bliss,
And many a happier field than this ! —

Once more, my Liege, farewell." —

Again he faced the battle-field, —

Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield.

" Now then," he said, and couched his spsar,

" My course is run, the goal is near ;

One effort more, one brave career,

Must close this race of mine."
Then in his stirrups rising high,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,

" Saint James for Argentine !"
And, of the bold pursuers, four
The gallant knight from saddle bore;
But not unharmed — a lance's point
Has found his breast-plate's loosened joint,

An axe has razed his crest;
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who pressed the chase with gory sword,

He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans bored,

And through his gallant breast.
Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer
Yet writhed him up acainst the spear,

And swung his broad-sword round !
— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way,

Canto JV.j TEE LORD OP THE ISLES. 521

Beneath that blow's tremendous sway,
The blood gushed from the wound ;

And the grim Lord of Colonsay

Hath turned him on the ground.

And laughed in death-pang, that his blade

The mortal thrust so well repaid.

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won ;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scattered rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
— When the war-cry of Argentine

Fell faintly on his ear !
" Save, save his life," he cried, " 0 savo
The kind, the noble, and the brave ! " —
The squadrons round free passage gave,

The wounded knight drew near.
He raised his red-cross shield no more,
Helm, cuish, and breastplate streamed with gore:
Yet, as he saw the King advance,
He strove even then to couch his lauce —

The effort was in vain !
The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse;
Wounded and weary, in mid course

He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose : —

" Lord Earl, the day is thine !
My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late:

Yet this may Argentine,
As boon from ancient comrade, crave —
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." —

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its grasp
Kindly replied ; but, in his clasp,

It stiffened and grew cold —
And, " 0 farewell ! " the victor cried,
" Of chivalry the flower and pride,

The arm in battle bold,
The courteous mien, the noble race,
The stainless faith, the manly face ! —
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine,
For late wake of De Argentine.
O'er better knight on death-bier laid,
Torch never gleamed nor mass was said !'

Nor for De Argentine alone
Through Ninian's church these torches shone,
And rose the death -prayer's awful tone.
That yellow lustre glimmered pale.

522 THE LORD OF TIIE ISLES. [Canto 57.

On broken plate and bloodied mail,

Rent crest and shattered coronet,

Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ;

And the best names that England knew,

Claimed in the death-prayer dismal due.

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame !
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield
Retreated from so sad a field,

Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stern by Scotland lost;

Grudge not her victory,
When for her free-born rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love, —

To none so dear as thee !

Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear;
With him, a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,

" For the mute page had spoke."—
"Page!" said Fitz-Louis, "rather say,
An angel sent from realms of day,

To burst the English yoke.
I saw his plume and bonnet drop,
When hurrying from the mountain top ;
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,
A step as light upon the green
As if his pinions waved unseen ! " —
" Spoke he with none 1" — " With none— one word
Burst when he saw the Island Lord,
Returning from the battle field."
" What answer made the Chief]" — " He kneeled,
Durst not look up, but muttered low,
Some mingled sounds that none might know,
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear,
As being of superior sphere." —

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain,
Heaped then with thousands of the slain,
'Mid victor monarch's musings high,
Mirth laughed in good King Robert's eye.
" And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair ?
Hath Ronald kneeled to him ]" he said,
" Then must we call the church to aid —
Our will be to the abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight he pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay, for high deliverance given,
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.

CbHft TV.] THE I.ORP OF TIIE ISLFS. 523

Let him array, besides, such state
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."

CONCLUSION.

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way;

Go boldly forth ; nor yet thy master blame,
Who chose no patron for his humble lay,

And graced thy numbers with no friendly name,
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame.

There was— and 0 ! how many sorrows crowd
Into these two brief words ! — there was a claim

By generous friendship given — had fate allowed,
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud 1

All angel now — yet little less than all,

While still a pilgrim in our world below !
What 'vails it us that patience to recall,

Which hid its own, to soothe all other woe ;
What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow

Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair ; —
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know,

That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair,
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there 1

CONTRIBUTIONS

BORDER MINSTRELSY.

CONTRIBUTIONS

TO

BORDER MINSTRELSY.

GLENFINLAS ; OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.

The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded
runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a soli-
tary bothy (a hut built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry
over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they
had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely
uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the
hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced, by the syren
who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut; the other re-
gained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a
trump, or Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day
at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he
found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces
and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was
from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women.

" 0 hone a rie' ! 0 hone a rie'! "

The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; "

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more !

0, sprung from great Macgillianore,

The chief that never feared a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,

How deadly thine unerring bow !

Well can the Saxon widows tell,

How, on the Teith's resounding shore,

The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er the hills, on festal day,
How blazed Lord Ronald's Beltane tree.

While youths and maids the light strathspey
So nimbly danced, with Highland glee.

528 GLENFINLAS.

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell,
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;

But now the loud lament we swell,
0 ne'er to see Lord Ronald more !

From distant isles a Chieftain came,
The joys of Ronald's halls to find,

And chase with him the dark-brown
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind

game,

'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle
The seer's prophetic spirit found,

As, with a minstrel's fire the while,
He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;

And many a lay of potent tone,
Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,
High converse with the dead they hold,

And oft espy the fated shroud,
That shall the future corpse infold.

0 so it fell, that on a day,

To rouse the red deer from their den,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,

And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait their sports to aid,

To watch their safety, deck their board ;

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell,
Their whistling shafts successful flew ;

And still, when dewy evening fell,
The quarry to their hut they drew.

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook

The solitary cabin stood,
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,

Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,
When three successive days had flown ;

And summer mist in dewy balm
Steeped heathy bank and mossy stone.

The moon, half hid in silvery flakes,
Afar her dubious radiance shed,

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
And resting on Benledi's head.

GLEXFINLAS. 529

fTow in their hut, in social guise,

Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy ;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,

As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. —

" What lack we here to crown our bliss,
While thus the pulse of joy beats high 1

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,
Her panting breath, and melting eye 1

To chase the deer of yonder shades,

This morning left their father's pile
The fairest of our mountain maids,

The daughters of the proud Glengyle

Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart,
And dropped the tear, and heaved the sigh ;

But vain the lover's wily art,
Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

But thou mayst teach that guardian fair,

While far with Mary I am flown,
Of other hearts to cease her care,

And find it hard to guard her own.

Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see

The lovely Flora of (ilengyle,
Unmindful of her charge and me,

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.

Or, if she choose a melting tale,

All underneath the greenwood bough,
Will good St. Oran's rule prevail,

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?" —

" Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,

No more on me shall rapture rise,
Responsive to the panting breath,

Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.

E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,
Where sunk my hopes of love and pain,

I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
On me the Seer's sad spirit came.

The last dread curse of angry Heaven,
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,

To dash' each glimpse of joy, was given —
The gift, the future ill to know.

The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn,

So gaily part from Oban's bay,
My eye beheld her dashed and torn,

Far on the rocky Colo&say.

84

630 GLENFINLAS.

Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son,
Thou saw'st, with pride the gallant's power,

As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,
He left the skirts of huge Benmore.

Thou only saw'st their tartans wave,
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound,

Heardst but the pibroch, answering brave
To many a target clanking round.

I heard the groans, I marked the tears,
I saw the wound his bosom bore,

When on the serried Saxon spears
He poured his clan's resistless roar.

And thou, who bidd'st me think of bliss,
And bidd'st my heart awake to glee,

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss, —
That heart, 0 Ronald, bleeds for thee 1

I see the death-damps chill thy brow;

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ;
The corpse lights dance — they're gone, and now

No more is given to gifted eye ! "

" Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,

Sad prophet of the evil hour !
Bay, should we scorn joy's transient beams,

Because to-morrow's storm may lour?

Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear;

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
Though doomed to stain the Saxon spear.

E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,
My Mary's buskins brush the dew ; " —

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,
But called his dogs, and gay withdrew.

Within an hour returned each hound ;

In rushed the rousers of the deer ;
They howled in melancholy sound,

Then closely couch beside the seer.

No Ronald yet; though midnight came,
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,

As, bending o'er the dying flame,
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.

Sudden the hounds erect their ears,
And sudden cease their moaning howl;

Close pressed to Moy, they mark their fears
By shivering limbs and stifled growl.

GLEXFINLAS. 53]

Untouched, the harp began to ring,

As softly, slowly oped the door ;
And shook responsive every string,

As light a footstep pressed the floor.

.And by the watch-fire's glimmering light,

Close by the minstrel's side was seen
A huntress maid, in beauty bright,

All dropping wet her robes of green.

All dropping wet her garments seem ;

Chilled was her cheek, her bosom bare,
As. bending o'er the dying gleam,

She wrung the moisture from her hair.

With maiden blush she softly said,

" 0 gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,
In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade,

A lovely maid in vest of green :

With her a chief in Highland pride ;

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,
The mountain dirk adorns his side,

Far on the wind his tartans flow }"

" And who art thou ] and who are they ?"

All ghastly gazing, Moy replied :
"And why, beneath the moon's pale ray,

Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ] "

" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,

Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
The castle of the bold Glengyle.

To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,

Our woodland course this morn we bore,

And haply met, while wandering here,
The son of great llagillianore.

0 aid me, then, to seek the pair,

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost;

Alone, I dare not venture there.

Where walks, they say, the shrieking gho3t."

" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ;

Then first, my own sad vow to keep,
Here will I pour my midnight prayer,

Which still must rise when mortals sleep."

" 0 first, for pity's gentle sake,

Guide a lone wanderer on her way !
For I must cross the haunted brake,

And reach my father's towers ere day."

632 GLENFINLAS.

" First, three times tell each Ave bead,
And thrice a Pater-noster say ;

Then kiss with me the holy reed ;
So shall we safely wind our way."

" 0 shame to knighthood, strange and foul !

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,

Which best befits thy sullen vow.

Not so, by high Dunlathman's fire,
Thy heart was froze to love and joy,

When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,
To wanton Morna's melting eye. "

Wild stared the Minstrel's eyes of flame,
And high his sable locks arose,

And quick his colour went and came,
As fear and rage alternate rose.

" And thou, when by the blazing oak
I lay, to her and love resigned,

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
Or sailed ye on the midnight wind]

Not thine a race of mortal blood,
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ;

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine. "

He muttered thrice St. Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St. Fijian's powerful prayer ;

Then turned him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung
His wildest witch-notes on the wind ;

And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,
As many a magic change they find.

Tall waxed the Spirit's altering form,
^ Till tothe roof her stature grew ;
Then, mingling with the rising storm,
With one wild yell, away she flew.

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear :
The slender hut in fragments flew j

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.

Wild mingling with the howling gale,
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ;

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail,
And die amid the northern skies.

TIIE EVE OF ST. JOIiX. 533

The voice of thunder shook the wood,

As ceased the more than mortal yell ;
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood

Upon the hissing firebrands felL

Next, dropped from high a mangled arm ;

The fingers strained a half-drawn blade:
And Last, the life-blood streaming warm,

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,

Streamed the proud crest of high Benmore ;

That arm the broad claymore could wield,
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills !

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen 1
There never son of Albin's hills

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen !

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet
At noon shall shun that sheltering den,

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet
The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

And we — behind the chieftain's shield.

No more shall we in safety dwell;
None leads the people to the field—

And we the loud lament must swell.

0 hone a rie' ! 0 hone a rie' !

The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Grlenartney's stateliest tree ;

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more !

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

Smatlho'me. or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is
situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster ol
wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags. The tower is a high square build-
ing, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer
court, being defended, on three sides, by a precipice and morass, is ac-
cessible only from the west, by a steep and rocky path. The apartments,
as is usual in a Border keep, or fortress, are placed one above another,
and communicate by a narrow stair. On the roof are two bartizans, or
platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood,
the outer an iron gate; the distance between them being nine feet, the
thickness, namely, of the walL From the elevated situation of Smayl-
ho'me Tower, it is seen many miles In every direction. Among the
crags by which It is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the Watch-

534 THE EVE OP ST. JOHN.

fold, and is said to have been the station of a beacon, In the times of war
with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapeL Brother-
stone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Sroaylho'me Tower.

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose 'with day,

He spurred bis courser on,
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way

That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the bold Buccleucb,

His banner broad to rear ;
He went not 'gainst the English yew,

To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet
was laced,

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ;
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,

Full ten pound weight and more.

The Baron returned in three days' space,

And his looks were sad and sour;
And weary was his courser's pace,

As lie reached hi^ rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram Moor

Ran red with English blood ;
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleucb,

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed,

His acton pierced and tore ;
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, —

But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,

He held him close and still ;
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,

His name was English Will.

" Come thou hither, my little foot-page ;

Come hither to my knee ;
Thou art young, and tender of age,

I think thou art true to me.

Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,

And look thou tell me true !
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,

What did thy lady do?"

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light,

That burns on the wild Watehfold ;
For, from height to height, the beacons bright

Of the English foemen told.

THE EVE OF ST. JOHX. 535

The bittern olamoured from tlie moss,

The wind blew loud and shrill ;
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,

To the eiry Beacon Hill.

I watched her steps, and silent came

Where she sat her on a stone ;
No watchman stood by the dreary flame ;

It burned all alone.

The second night I kept her in sight,

Till to the fire she came,
And, by Mary's might ! an armed Knight

Stood by the lonely flame.

And many a word that warlike lord

Did speak to my lady there ;
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,

And I heard not what they were.

The third night there the sky was fair,

And the mountain blast was still,
As again I watched the secret pair,

On the loansome Beacon Hill.

And I heard her name the midnight hour,

And name this holy eve ;
And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower ;

Ask no bold Baron's leave.

He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ;

His lady is all alone ;
The door she'll undo to her knight so true,

On the eve of good St. John.'

' I cannot come ; I must not come;

I dare not come to thee ;
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone :

In thy bower I may_ not be.'

' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight !

Thou shouldst not say me nay ;
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,

Is worth the whole summer's day.

And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder
shall not sound,

And rushes shall be strewed on the stair ;
So by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John,

I conjure thee, my love, to be there 1'

' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush
beneath my foot,

And the warder his bugle should not blow,
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,

And my footstep he would know.'

! THE EVE OE ST. JOHN,

' 0 fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east !

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en ;
And there to say mass, till three clays do pass,

For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'

He turned him around, and grimly he frowned ;

Then he laughed right scornfully —
' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight,

May as well say mass for me.

At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,

In thy chamber will I be.' —
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,

And no more did I see." —

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,

From the dark to the blood-red high;
" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,

For, by Mary, he shall die 1 "

" His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light ;

His plume it was scarlet and blue ;
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,

And his crest was a branch of the yew."

"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,

Loud dost thou lie to me !
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,

All under the Eildon-tree."

" Yet hear but my word, my noble lord !

For I heard her name his name ;
And that lady bright, she called the knight,

Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow,

From high blood-red to pale —
" The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is stiff
and stark —

So I may not trust thy tale.

Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,

And Eildon slopes to the plain,
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,

The gay gallant was slain.

The varying light deceived thy sight,

And the wild winds drowned the name ;
For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing

For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! "

He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate,

And he mounted the narrow stair
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,

He found hi3 lady fair.

THE EVE OP ST. JOHN. 537

That lady sat in mournful mood ;

Looked over hill and vale ;
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood,

And all down Teviotdale.

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright ! "

" Now hail, thou Baron true !
What news, what news, from Ancrani fight ?

What news from the bold Buccleuch ? "

"The Ancram moor is red with gore,

For many a Southron fell ;
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore

To watch our beacons well."

The lady blushed red, but nothing she said ;

Nor added the Baron a word :
Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair,

And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned,

And oft to himself he said —
" The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is
deep . . .

It cannot give up the dead ! "

It was near the ringing of matin-bell,

The night was well-nigh done,
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,

On the eve of good St. John.

The lady looked through the chamber fair,

By the light of a dying flame ;
And she was aware of a knight stood there —

Sir Richard of Coldinghame !

" Alas ! away, away 1 " she cried,

" For the holy Virgin's sake ! "
" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;

But, lady, he will not awake.

By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,

In bloody grave have I lain;
The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, —

But, lady, they are said in vain.

By the Baron's brand near Tweed's fair strand,

Most foully slain I fell;
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height

For a space is doomed to dwell.

A t our trysting-place, for a certain space,

I must wander to and fro;
Hut I had not had power to come to thy bower

Hadst thou not conjured me so."

538 CADYOW CASTLE,

Love mastered fear — her brow she crossed .

" How, Richard, hast thou sped ]
And art thou saved, or art thou lost ] "

The Vision shook his head !

" Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life,

So bid thy lord believe :
That lawless love is guilt above,

This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ;

His right upon her hand :
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,

For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score, of fingers four,
Remains on that board impressed ;

And for evermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'er looks upon the sun :
There is a Monk in Melrose tower,

He speaketh word to none.

That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day,
That Monk, who speaks to none —

That Nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,
That Monk the bold Baron.

CADYOW CASTLE.

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON.

The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence of
the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of the
river Evan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. The situa-
tion of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs,
and overhanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree.
In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the re-
mains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the
south of Scotland, from the Eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these
trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference; and the
state of decay, in which they now appear, shows that they may have wit-
nessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is included in che mag-
nificent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. In this forest was
long preserved the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity led
to their extirpation, about forty years ago. Their appearance was beau-
tiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls

CADYOTC CASTLE, 5.19

are described by ancient authors as having white manes; bnt those of
Utter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the
tame breed.

When princely Hamilton's abode

Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,
The song went round, the goblet flowed,

And revel sped the laughing hours.

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound,

So sweetly rung each vaulted wall,
And echoed light the dancer's bound,

As mirth and music cheered the hall.

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid,

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er,
Thrill to the music of the shade,

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar.

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame,

You bid me tell a minstrel tale,
And tune my harp, of Border frame,

On the wild banks of Evandale.

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride,
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn,

To draw oblivion's pall aside,
And mark the long-forgotten urn.

Then, noble maid ! at thy command,
Again the crumbled halls shall rise,

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand,
The past returns— the present flies.

Where with the rock's wood-covered side

Were blended late the ruins green,
Rise turrets in fantastic pride,

And feudal banners flaunt between :

Where the rude torrent's brawling course
Was shagged with thorn and tangling sloe,

The ashler buttress braves its force,
And ramparts frown in battled row.

Tis night — the shade of keep and spire

Obscurely dance on Evan's stream,
And on the wave the warder's fire

Is chequering the moonlight beam.

Fades slow their light; the east is grey;

The weary warder leaves his tower;
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay,

And merry hunters quit the bower.

540 CADTOW OASTLE.

The drawbridge falls — they hurry out —
Clatters each plank and swinging- chain,

As dashing o'er, the jovial rout
Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein.

First of his troop, the chief rode on;

His shouting merry-men throng behind;
The steed of princely Hamilton

Was fleeter than the mountain wind.

From the thick copse the roebucks bound,
The startling red-deer scuds the plain,

For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound
Has roused their mountain haunts again.

Through the huge oaks of Evandale,

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,

What sullen roar comes down the gale,
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ]

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase

That roam in woody Caledon,
Crashing the forest in his race,

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.

Fierce, on the hunters' quivered band,
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow.

Aimed well, the chieftain's lance has flown;

Struggling in blood the savage lies ;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan —

Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the prysel

'Tis noon — against the knotted oak
The hunters rest the idle spear;

Curls through the trees the slender smoke,
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer.

Proudly the chieftain marked his clan,
On greenwood lap all careless thrown,

Yet missed his eye the boldest man
That bore the name of Hamilton.

" Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place,
Still wont our woe and weal to share ]

Why comes he not our sport to grace ?
Why shares he not our hunter's fare 1"

Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,
(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he,)

" At merry feast, or buxom chase,
No more the warrior shalt thou see.

CADYOY/ CASTLE. 541

Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam,

When to his hearths, in social glee,
The war-worn soldier turned him home.

There, wan from her maternal throes,

His Margaret, beautiful and mild,
Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,

And peaceful nursed her new-born child.

0 change accursed ! past are those days;

False Murray's ruthless spoilers came,
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,

Ascends destruction's volumed flame.

What sheeted phantom wanders wild,

Where mountain Eske through woodland flows,

Her arms infold a shadowy child —
Oh, is it she, the pallid rose 1

The wildered traveller sees her glide,

And hears her feeble voice with awe —
' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride !

And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh | ' "

He ceased — and cries of rage and grief

Burst mingling from the kindred band,
And half arose the kindling chief,

And half unsheathed his Arran brand.

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream, and rock,

Rides headlong with resistless speed,
Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke

Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;

Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare,

As one, some visioned sight that saw,
Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair '< —

'Tis he ! 'tis lie ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh !

From gory selle, and reeling steed,
Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,

And, reeking from the recent deed,
He dashed his carbine on the ground.

Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear

In good greenwood the bugle blown,
But sweeter to Revenge's ear,

To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod,

At dawning morn, o'er dale and down,
But prouder base-born Murray rode

Through old Linlithgow's crowded town.

542 CADYOW CASTLE.

From the wild Border's humbled side,
In haughty triumph, marched he,

While Knox relaxed his bigot pride,
And smiled, the trait'rous pomp to see.

But can stern Power, with all his vaunt,

Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare,
The settled heart of Vengeance daunt,
Or change the purpose of Despair]

With hackbut bent, my secret stand
Dark as the purposed deed, I chose,

And marked, where, mingling in his band,
Trooped Scottish pikes and English bows.

Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,
Murder's foul minion, led the van ;

And clashed their broadswords in the rear,
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan.

Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,
Obsequious at their Regent's rein,

And haggard Lindsay's iron eye,
That saw fair Mary weep in vain.

'Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove_,
Proud Murray's plumage floated high;

Scarce could his trampling charger move,
So close the minions crowded nigh.

From the raised visor's shade, his eye,
Dark rolling, glanced the ranks along,

And his steel truncheon, waved on high,
Seemed marshalling the iron throng.

But yet his saddened brow confessed
A passing shade of doubt and awe;

Some fiend was whispering in his breast,
' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh ! '

The death-shot parts — the charger springs-
Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! —

And Murray's plumy helmet rings —
Bings on the ground, to rise no more.

What joy the raptured youth can feel,
To hear her love the loved one tell,

Or he, who broaches on his steel
The wolf, by whom his infant fell !

But dearer to my injured eye,

To see in dust proud Murray roll ;

And mine was ten times trebled joy
To hear him groan his felon soul,

TI1E GREY BROTHER. £43

My Margaret's spectre glided near ;

With pride her bleeding victim saw;
And shrieked in his death-deafened ear,

' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh ! '

Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault !

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree !
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! —

Murray is fallen, and Scotland free."

Vaults every warrior to his steed ;

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim —
" Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed !

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame ! "

But, see ! the minstrel vision fails —

The glimmering spears are seen no more :

The shouts of war die on the gales,
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.

For the loud bugle, pealing high,
The blackbird whistles clown the vale,

And sunk in ivied ruins lie
The bannered towers of Evandale.

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slaiu,

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed,
Or graceful guides the silken rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure own
The maids, who list the minstrel's tale ;

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known
On the fair banks of Evandale!

THE GREY BROTHER.

A FRAGMENT.

The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house upon the
barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now
called Gilmerton Grange, was formerly named Burndale, from the follow-
ing tragic adventure: — The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, ;o a
gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young
lady was seduced by the Abbot of Newbottle, a richly-endowed abbey,
upon the banks of the South Eske, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian.
Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned, also, that
the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the contrivance of the
lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale.
lie formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed
sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural

544 THE GREY BROTHER,

affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects
of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack
of dried thorns and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled
against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling,
with all its inmates.

The scene with which the ballad opens, was suggested by a curious
passage in the life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and per-
secuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles
II. and that of his successor James II.

The Pope he was saying the high, high mass,

All on Saint Peter's day,
With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven,

To wash men's sins away.

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass,

And the people kneeled around,
And from each man's soul his sins did pass,

As he kissed the holy ground.

And all among the crowded throng,

Was still, both limb and tongue,
While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof,

The holy accents rung.

At the holiest word, he quivered for fear,

And faltered in the sound —
And, when he would the chalice rear,

He dropped it on the ground.

" The breath of one, of evil deed,

Pollutes our sacred day ;
lie has no portion in our creed,

No part in what I say.

A being, whom no blessed word

To ghostly peace can bring ;
A wretch, at whose approach abhorred,

Recoils each holy thing.

Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise !

My adjuration fear !
I charge thee not to stop my voice,

Nor longer tarry here ! "

Amid them all a Pilgrim kneeled,

In gown of sackcloth grey :
Far joui'neying from his native field,

He first saw Rome that day.

For forty days and nights so drear,

I ween, he had not spoke,
And, save with bread and water clear,

His fast he ne'er had broke.

THE GREr BROTHER. 515

Amid the penitential flock,

Seemed none more bent to pray ;
J! 'it, when the Holy Father spoke,

He rose, and went his way.

Arrain unto his native land

His weary course be drew,
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand,

And Pentland's mountains blue.

His unblessed feet his native seat,

'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ;
Through woods more fair no stream more sweet

Rolls to the eastern main.

And lords to meet the Pilgrim came,

And vassals bent the knee ;
For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame,

Was none more famed than he.

And boldly for his country, still,

lu battle he had stood,
Ay. e'en when, on the banks of Till.

Her noblest poured their blood.

Sweet are the paths, 0, passing sweet !

By Eske's fair streams that run,
O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep,

Impervious to the sun.

There the rapt poet's step may rove,

And yield the muse the day ;
Th'-re Beauty, led by timid Love,

May shun the tell-tale ray;

From that fair dome, where suit is paid

By blast of bugle free,
To Auehendinny s hazel glade,

And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,

And Roslin's rocky glen,
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,

And classic Hawthornden ?

Yet never a path, from day to day,

The Pilgrim's footsteps range,
Save but the solitary way,

To Burndale's ruined Grange.

A woeful place was that, I ween,

As sorrow could desire ;
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,

And the roof was scathed with fire.

546 TILE GREY BIIOTUEB.

It fell upon a summer's eve,

While on Carnethy's head
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams

ILtd streaked the grey with red ;

And' the convent bell did vespers tell,

Newbottle's oaks among,
And mingled with the solemn knell

Our Ladye's evening song :

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell,

Came slowly down the wind,
And on the Pilgrim's ear they fell,

As his wonted path he did find.

Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was,

Nor ever raised his eye,
"Until he came to that dreary place,

Which did all in ruins lie.

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,

With many a bitter groan —
And there was aware of a Grey Friar,

Resting him on a stone.

"Now, Christ thee save !" said the Grey Brother;

" Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be ;"
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,

Nor answer again made he.

" 0 come ye from east, or come ye from west,

Or bring relics from over the sea ;
Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the divine,

Or Saint John of Beverley 1"

a I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine.

Nor bring relics from over the sea ;
I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope,

Which for ever will cling to me."

" Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so !

But kneel thee down by me,
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin,

That absolved thou mayst be."

" And who art thou, thou Grey Brother,

That I should shrive to thee,
When he, to whom are given the keys of earth and
heaven,

Has no power to pardon mel"

"01 am sent from a distant clime,

Five thousand miles away,
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime,

Done here 'twixt night and day."

THOMAS THE RHYJIER. 547

The pilgrim kneeled him on the sanJ,

And thus began his saye —
When on his neck an ice-cold band

Did that Grey Brother laye.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.

IN THREE PARTS.

Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildo-.xne,
known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposing to unite,
in Ida person, the powers of poetical composition and of vaticination, his
memory, even after the lapse of fiva hundred years, is regarded with
veneration by his countrymen. To give anything like a certain history
of this remarkable man would be indeed difficult; but the curious may
derive some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together.

It is agreed on all hands that the residence, and probably the birth-
place, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the
Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an
ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform
tradition bears, that his surname was Lermont, orLearmont; and that
the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred upon him in consequence of
his poetical compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon
the subject,

We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercil-
doune lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined
to place Ids death a little further back than Jir. Pinkerton, who supposes
that he was alive in 1300 (List of Scottish Poets). It cannot be doubted that
Thomas of Ercildoune was a remarkable and important person in his own
time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a pro-
phet and asapoet. AVhether he himself made any pretensions tothefirstof
these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by
the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe
Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an
inspired nun of a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to
be most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote
the Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted
by himselt

The popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to
the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge which made him
afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence, he was permitted to
return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his pro-
phetic powers; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal
mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure. Accordingly, while
Thomas was making merry with his friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a
person came running in, and told, with marks of fear and astonishment,
that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, com-
posedly and slowly, parading the street of the village. The prophet
instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to
the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the
popular belief, he still "drees his weird " in Fairy Land, and is one day

548 THOMAS THE KIIYMElt.

expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in the
most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from heneath the shade of
which he delivered 'his prophecies, now no longer exists; hut the spot is
marked hy a large stone, called the Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring
rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the
Rhymer's supernatural visitants.

It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dismiss a person so important.
in Border tradition as the Rhymer, without some further notice than a
simple commentary upon the following ballad. It is given from a copy
obtained from a lady residing not far from Ercildoune, corrected and
enlarged by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy, however, as
might be expected, is far more minute as to local description. To this
old tale the Editor has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a kind
of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer ;
and a Third Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his
having returned with the hart and hind, to the Land of Faerie.

fart giKl

ANCIENT.

True Thomas lay on Iluntlie bank ;

A ferlie he spied \vi' his e'e ;
And there he saw a ladye bright, •

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk,

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane

Hang fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulled affhis cap,
And louted low down to his knee, —

" All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven !
For thy peer on earth I never did see."

" 0 no, 0 no, Thomas," she said ;

" That name does not bela.ng to me ;
I am but the queen of fair Elf] and,

That am hither come to visit thee.

Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ;

" Harp and carp along with me ;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,

Sure of your bodie I will be."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never danton me."

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ;

" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ;
And ye maun serve me seven years,

Through weal or woe as may chance to be."

TUOMAS THE KHYMER. 519

Slie mounted on her milk-white steed ;

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,

The steed flew swifter than the wind.

0 they rade on, and farther on ;

The steed gaed swifter than the wind,
Until they reached a desart wide,

And living land was left behind.

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas,

And lean your head upon my knee :
Abide, and rest a little space,

And I will show you ferlies three.

0 see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset with thorns and briers 1 —
That is the path of righteousness,

Though after it but few inquires.

And see not ye that braid, braid road,

That lies across that lily leven ] —
That is the path of wickedness,

Though some call it the road to heaven.

And see not ye that bonny road,

That winds about the fernie brae ? —
That is the road to fair Elfland,

Where thou and I this night maun gae.

But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,

Whatever ye may hear or see ;
P'or, if you speak word in Elflyn land,

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie."

0 they rade on, and farther on,

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
And they waded through red blude to the knee,

Fur a' the blude, that's shed on earth,
Pans through the springs o' that countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden green,

And she pu'd an apple frae a tree —
" Take this fur thy wages, true Thomas ;

it will give thee the tongue that can never lie."

" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said ;
"A gudely gift ye wad gie to me !

1 neither dough t to buy nor sell,
At tair or tryst where I may be,

550 THOMAS THE RHYMER.

I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye."

" Now hold thy peace ! " the ladye said,
' ' For, as I say, so must it be. "

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ;
And, till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

|)ari Scarab.

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES.

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but more commonly taking
his title from his Castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of
Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Ercildoune Is said to have delivered
to him his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the author has
chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. All the prophetic
verses are selected from Hart's publication.

When seven years were come and gane,
The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;

And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
Like one awakened from a dream.

He heard the trampling of a steed,

He saw the flash of armour flee,
And he beheld a gallant knight

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

He was a stalwart knight, and strong;

Of giant make he 'peared to be:
He stirred his horse, as he were wode,

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.

Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas !

Some uncouth ferries show to me."
Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave !

Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!

Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave,

And I will show thee curses three,
Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane.

And change the gTeen to the black livery.

A storm shall roar, this very hour,

From Rosse's Hills to Solway Sea."
" Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar !

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea."

THOMAS THE RIIVJIER. &31

He put his hand on the earlie's head;

He showed him a rock, beside the sea,
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,

And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e.

" The neist curse lights on Branxton Hills:

By Flodden's high and heathery side,
Shall wave a banner, red as blude,

And chieftains throng wi' rueikle pride.

A Scottish king shall come full keen;

The ruddy lion beareth he:
A feathered arrow sharp, I ween,

Shall make him wink and warre to see.

When he is bloody, and all to bledde,

Thus to his men he still shall say —
' For God's sake, turn ye back again,

And give yon southern folk a fray ?
Why should I lose the right is mine :

.My doom is Dot to die this day.'

Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,

And woe and wonder ye shall see;
How forty thousand spearmen stand,

Where yon rank river meets the sea.

There shall the lion lose the gylte,

And the libbards bear it clean away;
At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt

Much gentil blude that day."

Enough, enough, of curse and ban;

Some blessing show thou now to me,
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrict said,

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me ! "

" The first of blessings I shall thee show,

Is by a burn, that's called of bread;
Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,

And find their arrows lack the head.

Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,

Shall many a falling courser spurn.
And knights shall die in battle keen.

Beside a headless cross of stone,

The libbards there shall lose the gree;
The raven shall come, the erne shall go,

And drink the Saxon blood sae free.
The cross of stone they shall not know,

So thick the corses there shall be."

552 THOMAS THE 1UIYMEB.

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,
" True Thomas, tell now unto me,

What man shall rule the isle Britain,

Even from the north to the southern sea V

A French queen shall bear the son,
Shall rule all Britain to the sea;

lie of the Brace's blood shall come,
As near as in the ninth degree.

" The waters worship shall his race;

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;
For they shall ride ower ocean wide,

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."

) art SL^irb.

The following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and
the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Laud, being
entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among
the class of- Modem Ballads, had it not been for its immediate connection
with the first and second parts of the same story.

When seven years more had come and gone,

Was war through Scotland spread,
And Ruberslaw showed high Dunyon

His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,

Pitched palliouns took their room,
And crested helms, and spears a rowe,

Glanced gaily through the broom.

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,

Resounds the ensenzie ;
They roused the deer from Caddenhead,

To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercildoune,

In Learmont's high and ancient hall;
And there were knights of great renown,

And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,

The music nor the tale,
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,

Nor mantling quaighs of ale.

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,

When as the feast was done ;
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,

The elfin harp he won.)

THOMAS THE RHYHEB. 553

Ilusbed were the throng, both limb and tongue.

And harpers for envy pule ;
And armed lords leaned on their swords,

And hearkened to the tale.

In numbers high, the witching tale

The prophet poured along;
No after bard might e'er avail

Those numbers to prolong.

Yet fragments of the lofty sti ain

Float down the tide of years.
As, buoyant on the stormy main,

A parted wreck appears.

lie sung King Arthur's table round:

The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,

And bled for ladies' sake.

Hut chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,

The notes melodious swell;
Was none excelled in Arthur's days,

The knight of Lionelle.

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right,

A venomed wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,

Upon the Irish shore.

No art the poison might withstand ;

No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand

Had probed the rankling wound.

With gentle hand and soothing tongue,

She bore the leech's part ;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,

He paid her with his heart.

0 fatal was the gift, I ween !

For, doomed in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen^

His cowardly uncle's bride.

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard

In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,

In gay confusion strove.

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High reared its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale

In all its wonders spread.

554 THOMAS TIIE RUYJ1EB.

Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
0 who could sing but he 1

Through many a maze the winning song

In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng

O'er Tristrem's dying bed.

His ancient wounds their scars expand,
With agony his heart is wrung;

0 where is Isolde's lilye hand,
And where her soothing tongue?

She comes, she comes ! — like flash of flame

Can lovers' footsteps fly :
She comes, she comes !— she only came

To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die: her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting breath :

The gentlest pair that Britain bare,
United are in death.

There paused the harp; its lingering sound

Died slowly on the ear;
The silent guests still bent around,

For still they seemed to hear.

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak,
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;

But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,

The mists of evening close;
In camp, in castle, or in bower

Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas in his lofty tent,
Dreamed o'er the woeful tale;

When footsteps light, across the bent,
The warrior's ears assail.

He starts, he wakes: — " What, Richard, ho !

Arise, my page, arise !
What venturous wight, at dead of night,

Dare step where Douglas lies ] "

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,

A selcouth sight they see —
A hart and hind pace side by side,

As white as snow on Fairnalie.

TIIOMAS THE RUYKEB. 555

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,

They stately move and slow;
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,

Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message sped,

As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,

And soon his clothes did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;

Never a word he spake but three;—
" My sand is run ; my thread is spun ;

This sign regardeth me."

The elfin harp his neck around,

In minstrel guise, he hung;
And on the wind, in doleful sound,

Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went ; yet turned him oft

To view his ancient hall ;
On the grey tower, in lustre soft,

The autumn moonbeams fall.

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,

Danced shimmering in the ray :
In deepening mass, at distance seen,

Broad Soltra's mountains lay.

" Farewell, my father's ancient tower !

A long farewell," said he :
" The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,

Thou never more shalt be.

To Learmont's name no foot of earth

Shall here again belong,
And on thy hospitable hearth

The hare shall leave her young.

Adieu! adieu! " again he cried,

All as he turned him roun'—
" Farewell to Leader's silver tide 1

Farewell to Ercildoune !"

The hart and hind approached the place,

As lingering yet he stood ;
And there, before Lord Douglas' face,

W 1th them he crossed the flood.

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed,

And spurred him the Leader o'er;
But, though he rode with lightning speed,

He never saw them more.

55C

Some said to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had betn ;

But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

WAR SONG- OP THE ROYAL EDINBURGH
LIGHT DRAGOONS.

The following War-song was written during the apprehension of an
invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised
in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own ex-
pense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian
Light Cavalry, commanded by the Hon. Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas.
The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of
their own rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which
furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a
regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery,
each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others,
might, in similar circumstances, beupplied the exhortation of our ancient
Galgacus: " Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros etposteros cogHate."

To horse! to horse! the standard flies,

The bugles sound the call ;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze, —

Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,

A band of brothers true;
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned;

We boast the red and blue.

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown

Dull Holland's tardy train ;
Their ravished toys though Romans mourn,
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And, foaming, gnaw the chain;

0! had they marked the avenging call

Their brethren's murder gave,
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown,
Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,

Sought freedom in the grave I

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,

In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn 1

No! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a flood,

The sun, that sees our falling day,
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,
And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,

Or plunder's bloody gain;
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,
To guard our King, to fence our Law, —

Nor shall their edge be Tain.

If ever breath of British gale

Shall fan the tricolor,
Or footstep of invader rude,
With rapine foul, and red with blood,

Pollute our happy shore, —

Then farewell home ! and farewell friends !

Adieu each tender tie !
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,

To conquer, or to die.

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam

High sounds our bugle call ;
Combined by honour's sacred tie :
Our word is Laws and Liberty/

liLarch forward, one and all !

MISCELLANEOUS.

HELLVELLYN.

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most ami-
able disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn.
His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they
were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant
during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and
Westmorland.

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ;

All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather,

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather,

Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ?

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start 3
How many long days and long nights didst thou number,

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ?
And, 0 ! was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him, —

Unhonoured the Pilgrim from life should depart 1

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lightsd hall ;

With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall :

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming,

In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming ;

THE MAID OF TORO— THE PALMER. 559

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,

When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.

And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,

Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover filing,

With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.

THE MAID OF TORO.

0, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,

And weak were the wThispers that waved the dark wood,
All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow,

Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
" 0 saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending;

Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry;
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,

My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die ! " —

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,

With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,

And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale.
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ;
Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary,

Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.

" 0, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying !

0, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low!
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;

And fast through the woodland approaches the foe." —
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,

And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair :
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,

For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair.

THE PALMER.

" 0 open the door, some pity to show;
Keen blows the northern wind,
The glen is white with the drifted snow;
And the path is hard to find.

No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate,
From chasing the king's deer,

Though even an Outlaw's wretched state
Might claim compassion here.

560 WANDERING WILLIE.

A wear}' Palmer, worn and weak,

I wander for my sin ;
0 open, for your lady's sake,

A pilgrim's blessing win!

I'll give you pardons from the pope,
And reliques from o'er the sea, —

0, if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charity.

The hair is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind;

An aged man, amid the storm.
No shelter can I find.

You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar,
Dark, deep, and strong is he,

And I must ford the Ettricke o'er,
Unless you pity me.

The iron gate is bolted hard,
At which I knock in vain;

The owner's heart is closer barred,
Who hears me thus complain.

Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be,

You never may the shelter want,
That's now denied to me. "

The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
And heard him plead in vain;

But oft amid December's storm,
He'll hear that voice again.

For lo, when, through the vapours dani,
Morn shone on Ettricke fair,

A corpse amid the alders rank,
The Palmer weltered there.

WANDERING WILLIE.

All joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ;

0 weary betide it ! I wandered beside it,
And banned it for parting my Willie and me.

Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune ;

Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ;
Ae kiss of welcome worth twenty at parting,

Now I hae got my Willie again.

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 66i

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing,

I sate on the beach wi* the tear in my e'e,
And thought o' the bark where my Willie wa3 sailing,

And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me.

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,

Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds roaring,

That ere o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faein.

When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for the great victory,

In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,

Of each bold adventure, of every brave scar :
And, trust me, I'll smile, though my e'en they may glisten;

For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.

And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers,
When there's naething to speak to the heart through the e'e:

How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea.

Till, at times, could I help it] I pined and I pondered,
If love would change notes like the bird on the tree —

Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,

Hardships and danger despising for fame,
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie aud hame.

Enough now thy story in annals of glory

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain ;
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me,

I never wall part with my Willie again.

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.

Thf.ke Is a tradition in Tweeddale that, when Neidpafh Castle, near
l'eebles, was Inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted
Letween a daughter of that noble family and a sou of the laird of Tushie-
law, tn Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her
parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence the lady fell
in a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her
fither consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he
was expected to pass through Peebles, on theroadtoTushielaw, the young
hidy, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony
of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him
as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs,

36

5(52 THE BARD'S INCANTATION.

that she Is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible
distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance,
and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on, without recognising
her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the
shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the anus of her attendants.
There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's
" Flour d'Epine."

0 lovers' eyes are sharp to see,

And lovers' ears in hearing ;
And love, in life's extremity,

Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,

A.nd slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower,

To watch her love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,

Her form decayed by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,

You saw the taper shining ;
By fits, a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying ;
By fits, so ashy pale she grew

Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers, to see and hear,

Seemed in her frame residing ;
Before the watch-dog pricked his ear,

She heard her lover's riding ;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned,

She knew, and waved, to greet him ;
And o'er the battlement did bend,

As on the wing to meet him.

He came — he passed — a heedless gaze,

As o'er some stranger glancing,
Her welcome spoke, in faltering phrase,

Lost in his courser's prancing —
The castle arch, whose hollow tone

Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan,

Which told her heart was broken.

THE BARD'S INCANTATION.

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN THE ADTUJIN
OF 1801.

Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808.

The Forest of Glenniore is drear,

It is all of black pine, and the dark oak-tree;

And the midnight wind, to the mountain deer,
Is whistling the forest lullaby ; —

T1IK BARD'S INCANTATION. 563

The moon looks through the drifting storm,
But the troubled lake reflects not her form,
For the waves roll whitening to the land,
And dash against the shelvy strand.

There is a voice among the trees

That mingles with the groaning oak —
That mingles with the stormy breeze,

And the lake- waves dashing against the rock ; —
There is a voice within the wood,
The voice of the Bard in fitful mood,
His song was louder than the blast,
As the Bard of (ilenmore through the forest passed.

" Wake ye from your sleep of death,

Minstrels and Bards of other days !
For the midnight wind is on the heath,

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze:
The spectre with his bloody hand,
Is wandering through the wild woodland;
The owl and the raven are mute for dread,
And the time is meet to awake the dead I

Souls of the mighty ! wake and say,

To what high strain your harps were strung,

When Lochlin ploughed her billowy way,
And on your shores her Norsemen flung]

Her Norsemen trained to spoil and blood,

Skilled to prepare the raven's food,

All by your harpings doomed to die

On bloody Largs and Loncarty.

Mute are ye all ? No murmurs strange

Upon the midnight breeze sail by;
Nor through the pines with whistling change

Mimic the harp's wild harmony !
Mute are ye now ] — Ye ne'er were mute,
When Murder with his bloody foot,
And Rapine with his iron hand,
Were hovering near your mountain strand.

0 yet awake the strain to tell,

By every deed in song enrolled,
By every chief who fought or fell,

For Albion's weal in battle bold ; —
From Coilgach, first who rolled his car,
Through the deep ranks of Roman war.
To him, of veteran memory dear,
Who victor died on Aboukir.

By all their swords, by all their scars,

By all their names, a mighty spell 1
ly all their wounds, by all their wars,

Arise, the mighty strain to tell ;

564 TO A LADY — THE VIOLET.

For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain,
More impious than the heathen Dane,
More grasping than all-grasping Rome,
Gaul's ravening legions hither come ! " —

The wind is hushed, and still the lake —
Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears,
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,

At the dread voice of other years—
" When targets clashed, and bugles rung,
And blades round warriors' heads were flung
The foremost of the band were we,
And hymned the joys of Liberty ! " —

TO A LADY.

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.
Published in the Edinburgh Anuual Register for 18C8,

Take these flowers, which, purple waving,

On the ruined rampart grew,
Where, the sons of freedom braving,

Rome's imperial standards flew.

Warriors from the breach of danger

Pluck no longer laurels there:
They but yield the passing stranger

Wild-flower wreaths for Beautv's hair.

THE VIOLET.

Published in Vm Edinburgh Annual Register for 1S08,

The violet in her green- wood bower,

Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle,

May boast itself the fairest flower
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining ;

I've seen an eye of lovelier blue,
More sweet through watery lustre shiniug.

The summer sun that dew shall dry,
Ere yet the day be passed its morrow;

Nor longer in my false love's eye

Remained the tear of parting sorrow,

nUNTIXG SONG — THE RESOLVE. 565

HUNTING SONG.

Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 18C3.

"Waken lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day,

All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear;

Hounds are in their couples yelling,

Hawks are whistling, hojns are knelling,

Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

" Waken lords and ladies gay."

Waken lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain grey,

Springlets in the dawn are steaming,

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;

And foresters have busy been,

To track the buck in thicket green ;

Now we come to chant our lay,

" Waken lords and ladies gay."

Waken lords and ladies gay,
To the green-wood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay, —
" Waken lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,

Waken lords and ladies gay !

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,

Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk,

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ;

'J'li ink of this, and rise with day,

Gentle lords and ladies gay.

THE RESOLVE.

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM.
Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 18081

My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;

I loved, and was beloved again,
Yet all was but a dream :

5C3 THE RESOLVE.

For, as lier love was quickly got,

So, it was quickly gone;
No more I'll bask in flame so hot,

But coldly dwell alone.

Not in aid more bright than maid was e'er

My fancy shall beguile,
By flattering word, or feigned tear,

By gesture, look, or smile :
No more I'll call the shaft fair shot,

Till it has fairly flown,
Nor scorch me. at a flame so hot ; —

I'll rather freeze alone.

Each ambushed Cupid I'll defy,

In cheek, or chin, or brow,
And deem the glance of woman's eye

As weak as woman's vow :
I'll lightly hold the lady's heart,

That is but lightly won;
I'll steel my breast to beauty's art,

And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon blazes out,

The diamond's ray abides,
The flame its glory hurls about,

The gem its lustre hides ;
Such gem I fondly deemed was mine,

And glowed a diamond stone,
But, since each eye may see it shine,

I'll darkling dwell alone.

No waking dream shall tinge my thought

With dyes so bright and vain,
No silken net, so slightly wrought,

Shall tangle me again :
No more I'll pay so dear for wit,

I'll live upon mine own,
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, —

I'll rather dwell alone.

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest, —

" Thy loving labour's lost ;
Thou shalt no more be wildly blessed,

To be so strangely crossed :
The widowed turtles mateless die,

The phcenix is but one ;
They seek no loves — no more will I —

I'll rather dwell alone. "

TnE NORMAN IIORSE-SHOE. 5C7

THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON ; OR, THE DYING
BARD.

The Welsh tradition bears, that a bard, on his death-bed, demanded his
harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted, requesting
that it might be performed at his funeral.

Air— Dafftpz Gahgweh.

I.

Dinas Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is nigh,
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die :
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade
Unhonoured shall flourish, unhonoured shall fade ;
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue
That viewed them with rapture, with rapture that sung.

Thy sons, Dinas Einlinn, may march in their pride,
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ;
But where is the harp shall give life to their name ?
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame ?

And 0, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair,
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair,
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye,
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die ?

v.
Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene,
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ;
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old,
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold.

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades,
Unconquered thy warriors, and matchless thy maids !
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell,
Farewell, my loved harp ! my last treasure, farewell !

THE NORMAN HORSESHOE.
TnE Welsh, Inhabiting a mountaiuous country, and possessing only an
inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of
the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were success-
ful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses celebrate a supposed
defeat of Clare, Earl of Strignil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of
Chepstow, Lords Marchers of Monmouthshire, Rymny is a stream which

5(53 THE POACHER,

divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan ; Caerphili, the scene
of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruius of
a very ancient castle.

Air— The War Song of the Men of Glamorgan.

I.

Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,
And hammers din, and anvil sounds,
And armourers, with iron toil,
Barb many a steed for battle's broil.
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel
Around the courser's thundering heel,
That e'er shall dint a sable wound
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground !

From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn,
Was heard afar the bugle-horn ;
And forth, in banded pomp and pride,
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.
They swore, their banners broad should gleam,
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream ;
They vowed, Caerphili's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And sooth they swore— the sun arose,
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows ;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide !
And sooth they vowed, — the trampled green
Showed where hot Neville's charge had been ;
In every sable hoof-tramp stood
A Norman horseman's curdling blood !

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil,
That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil ;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.
No more the stamp of armed steed
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ;
Nor trace be there, in early spring,
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring.

THE POACHER.

2?:is and the following piece were published under the title of " Fragments,
in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1809.

Welcome, grave stranger, 'to our green retreats,
Where health with exercise and freedom meets !
Thrice welcome, sage, whose philosophic plan
By Nature's limits metes the rights of man ;

THE POACHER. 5(59

Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls,

N o\v gives full value for true Indian shawls ;

O'er court and custom-house his shoe who flings,

Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings !

Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind

Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind ;

Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin see3,

That balks the snare, yet battens on the cheese ;

Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe,

Our buckskiuned justices expound the law,

Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain,

And for the netted partridge noose the swain ;

And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke

The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,

To give the denizens of wood and wild,

Nature's free race, to each her free-born child.

Hence hast thou marked, with grief, fair London's race

Mocked with the boon of one poor Easter chase,

And longed to send them forth as free as when

Poured o'er Chantilly the Parisian train,

When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined,

And scarce the field-pieces were left behind !

A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismayed,

On every covey fired a bold brigade —

La Douce Humanite approved the sport,

For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt.

Shouts patriotic- solemnized the day,

And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberti !

But mad Citoycn, meek Monsieur again,

With some few added links resumes his chain ;

Then, since such scenes to France no more are known,

Come, view with me a hero of thine own !

One, whose free actions vindicate the cause

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws.

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,
Leaving between deserted isles of land,
Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy sand ;
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen,
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green.
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep,
Our scarce-marked path descends yon dingle deep :
Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip, —
In earthly mire philosophy may slip.
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam,
We reach the frail yet barricaded door
Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor;
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives,
1 he walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ;
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say,
Rise in the progress of one night and day;
Though placed where still the Conqueror's bests o'erawe,
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law;

570 TIIE POACHER.

The builder claims the unenviable boon,

To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon

As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore

On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador.

Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep —

Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep;

Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun

Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done.

Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand,

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand ;

While round the hut are in disorder laid

The tools and booty of his lawless trade;

For force or fraud, resistance or escape,

The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape.

His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards,

And the filched lead the church's roof affords-

( Hence shall the rector's congregation fret,

That, while his sermon's dry, his walls are wet.)

The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping net are there,

Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare,

Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare;

Bartered for game from chase or warren won,

Yon cask holds moonlight, run when moon was none;

And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in hutch apart,

To wait the associate higgler's evening cart.

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest :
What scenes perturbed are acting in his breast !
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain,
And his dilated nostril toils in vain ;
For short and scant the breath each effort draws,
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause.
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretched,
His sinewy throat seems by convulsions twitched,
While the tongue falters, as to utterance loth,
Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, and oath.
Though, stupified by toil, and drugged with gin,
The body sleep, the restless guest within
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade,
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismayed. —

" Was that wild start of terror and despair,
Those bursting eyeballs, and that wildered air,
Signs of compunction for a murdered hare?
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch,
For grouse or partridge massacred in March ]" —

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe,
There is no wicket in the gate of law !
He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar
That awful portal, must undo each bar ;
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride,
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide.

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread,
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned,

671

Was Edward Mansell once ;— the lightest heart,

That ever played on holiday his part !

The leader hein every Christmas game,

The harvest-feast grew blither when he came,

And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,

When Edward named the tune and led the dance.

Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong,

Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song;

And if he loved a gun, his father swore,

" 'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er,

Himself had had the same, some thirty years before."

But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke,
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke.
The common dread of justice soon allies
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise,
With sterner felons trained to act more dread,
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled.
Then, — as in plagues the foul contagions pass,
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, —
Quilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw,
Their hope impunity, their fear the law;
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same,
Till the revenue balked, or pilfered game,
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads
To darker villany, and direr deed3.

Wild howled the wind the forest glades along,
And oft the owl renewed her dismal song ;
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound,
Red William's spectre walked his midnight round.
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look,
From the green marshes of the stagnant brook
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook !
The waning moon, with storm-presaging gleam,
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam ;
The old Oak stooped his arms, then flung them high,
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky —
'Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood sere,
In Mai wood- walk young Mansell watched the deer:
The fattest buck received his deadly shot —
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot.
Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife,
O'erpowered at length the outlaw drew his knife !
Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell —
The rest his waking agony may tell !

SONG.

Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register far 1809.

Oh, say not, my love, with that mortified air,
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown,

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair,
For those raptures that still are thine own.

572 epitaph.

Though April his temples may wreath with the vine,

Its tendrils in infancy curled,
"lis the ardour of August matures us the wine,

Whose life-blood enlivens the world.

Though thy form, that was fashioned as light as a fay'3,

Has assumed a proportion more round,
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze,

Looks soberly now on the ground, —

Enough, after absence to meet me again,

Thy steps still with ecstasy move;
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain
For me the kind language of love.
» * * * #

The rest was illegible, the fragment being torn across by a
racket-stroke.

EPITAPH.

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED IN LICnFIELD CATHE-
DRAL, AGREEABLY TO THE BEQUEST OF THE LATE MISS ANNA
SEWARD, TO DESIGNATE THE BURIAL-PLACE OF HER FATHER,
THE RET. THOMAS SEWARD, A CANON OF THAT CATHEDRAL, IN
WHICH SHE IS HERSELF INTERRED.

Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register /or 1S09.

Amid these aisles, where once his precepts showed
The heavenward pathway which in life he trod,
This simple tablet marks a father's bier,
And those he loved in life, in death are near ;
For him, for them, a daughter bade it rise,
Memorial of domestic charities.

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread,
In female grace, the willow droops her head ;
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung,
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ;
What poet's voice is smothered here in dust,

Till waked to join the chorus of the just,

Lo ! one brief line an answer sad supplies,
Honoured, beloved, and wept, here Seward lies !
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,
(jo seek her genius in her living lay.

NOTES.

THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL.

The feast was over in Branksome tower. — P. 6.

In the reign of James I. Sir William Scott of Buccleuch, chief of
the clan bearing that name, exchanged with Sir Thomas Inglis of
Manor, the estate of Murdiestone, in Lanarkshire, for one-half of
the barony of Branksome, or Branxholm, lying upon the Teviot,
about three miles above Hawick.

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame.. — P. 6.

The ancient barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendour and
from their frontier situation, retained in their household at Brank-
some a number of gentlemen of their own name, who held lands
from their chief, for the military service of watching and warding
his castle.

And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow. — P. 7.

The Jedwood axe was a sort of partizan used by horsemen, as appears
from the arms of Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted and armed
with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart staff.

How Lord Walter fell— T. 1.
Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather. Sir
David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and warden of
the west marches of Scotland. His death was the consequence of -a
feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs.

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew. — P. 1.

Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the feud be-
twixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed, in 1529,
between the heads of each clan, binding themselves to perform reci-
procally the four principal pilgrimages of Scotland, for the benefit
of the souls of those of the opposite name who had fallen in the
quarrel.

While Cessford owns the rule of Car.—?. 8.

The family of Ker, Kerr, or Car, was very powerful on the Border.
Cessford Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family, is
situated near the village of Morebattle, within two or three miles of
the Cheviot Hills.

Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed. — P. 8.
The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Border family,
whose chief seat was at Crailing, in Teviotdalo.

57-i MUTES TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

Of Bethune's line of Picardic.—P. 8.

The Bethunes were of French origin, and derived their name from

a small town in Artois. The family of Bethune, or Beatoun, in Fife,

produced three learned and dignified prelates, namely, Cardinal

Beaton, and two successive archbishops of Glasgow.

In Padua, far beyond the sea. — P. 8.
_ Padua was long supposed by the Scottish peasants to be the prin-
cipal school of necromancy.

His form no darkening shadow traced. — P. 8.
The shadow of a necromancer is independent of the sun.

The viewless forms of air.— P. 9.
The Scotch still, in many places, believe in the existence of an
intermediate class of spirits residing in the air, or in the waters, to
whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, and all such phenomena
as their own philosophy cannot readily explain.

A fancied moss-trooper, the boy. — P. 10.
This was the usual appellation of the marauders upon the Bor-
ders.

Exalt the Crescent and the Star. — P. 11.
The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were, Vert on a cheveron, be-
twixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three mullets sable ; crest,
a unicorn's head erased proper. The Scotts of Buccleuch bore, Or
on a bend azure ; a star of six points betwixt two crescents of the
first.

She called to her, William of Deloraine. — P. 11.
The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch in Ettricke
Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the Buccleuch family,
although no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545.

Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds. — P. 11.

The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders,
were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pursuit of blood-
hounds. Barbour informs us, that Robert Bruce was repeatedly
tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion he escaped by wading a
bow-shot down a brook, and ascending into a tree by a branch which
overhung the water ; thus, leaving no trace on land of his foot-
steps, he baffled the scent. A sure way of stopping the dog was
to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating
fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such
occasions.

Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound. — P. 12.

This is a round artificial mount near Hawick, which was probably
anciently used as a place for aseembling a national council of the
adjacent tribes.

Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. — P. 12.
The estate of Hazeldean belonged formerly to a family of Scotts.

On Minto crags the moon-beams glint.— -P. 13.
A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above the
vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, from
which Lord Minto takes his title.

To ancient Riddel's fair domain. — P. 13.
Tradition carries the antiquity of the family of Riddel to a point
extremely remote; and is, in some degree, sanctioned by the dis-
covery of two stone coffins, one containing an earthen pot filled with
ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, a.d. 727 ; the other dated
936, and filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size. These coffins
were discovered in the foundations of what was, but has long ceased
to be, the chapel of Riddcll.

NOTES TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MLHSTBEL. 57o

As (/lanced his eye o'er Halidon.—T. 13.
Halidou was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford, now demo-
lished.

Old Melrose rose, and/air Tweed ran. — P. 14.
The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was foimded by
King David I. in 1136. Its ruins afford the finest specimen of Gothic
architecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. This
superb convent was dedicated to St. Mary, and the monks were of
the Cistertian order.

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. — P. 15.
The buttresses, ranged along the sides of Melrose Abbey, are
richly carved and fretted, containing niches for the statues of
saints, and labelled with scrolls bearing appropriate tests of Scrip-
ture.

Then view St. David's ruined pile. — P. 15.
David I. of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity, by
founding, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery of Mel-
rose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, aDd many others.

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. — P. 15.
The Buccleuch family were great benefactors to the abbey of
Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott,
baron of Murdieston and Rankelburn (now Buccleuch), gave to
the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettricke Forest, pro salute
animce suce.

And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.—V. 16.

The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulture.
0 gallant chief of Otterburne. — P. 17.

The desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 15th August 138S,
betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, aud James, Earl of Douglas.
Both these renowned champions were at the head of a chosen body
of troops. Percy was made prisoner, and the Scots won the day,
dearly purchased by the death of their gallant general, the Earl of
Douglas, who was slain iu the action. He was buried at Melrose,
beneath the high altar.

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale.—Y. 17.
William Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdale, flourished dur-
ing the reign of David II. ; and was so distinguished by his valour,
that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. Nevertheless, he tar-
nished his renown by the cruel murder of Sir Alexander Ramsay of
Dalhousie, originally his friend and brother in arms, because the
king had conferred upon Ramsay the sheriffdom, of Teviotdale, to
which Douglas pretended some claim.

The moon on the east oriel shone.— P. 17.
It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of the light-
ness aud elegance of Gothic architecture, when in its purity, than
the eastern window of Melrose Abbey.

They sate them down on a marble stone. — P. 17.
A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed cut as
the monument of Alexander II. ; others say it is the resting-place
of Waldeve, one of the early abbots.

To meet the wonderous Michael Scott. — P. 17.
Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the 13lh cen-
tury. By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era.
He was a man of much learning. He appears to have been addicted
to the abstruse studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy,
and chiromancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a
skilful magician.

576 NOTES TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

That when in Salamanca's cave. — P. IT.

Spain was accounted, a favourite residence of magicians.
The words, that cleft FAldon Hills in three. — P. 18.

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a
spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding constant
employment. He commanded him to build a cauld, or dam-head,
across the Tweed at Kelso ; it was accomplished in one night, and
still does honour to the infernal architect. Michael next ordered
that Eildon Hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided
into three. Another night was sufficient to part its summit into
the three picturesque peaks which it now bears.

That lamp shall burn unquenchably. — P. 18.
Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural magic, talk
much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been found burning in
ancient sepulchres.

He marked the crane on the Baron's crest. — P. 25.
The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane
dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an emphatic Border
motto, Thou shalt want ere I want.

Like a book-bosomed priest should ride.— P. 26.

There is a tradition that friars were wont to come from Melrose,

or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in the parish of Unthank; and,

from being in use to carry the mass-book in their bosoms, they were

called by the inhabitants, Book-a-bosomes.

The running stream dissolved the spell. — P. 27.
It is a firm article of popular faith that no enchantment can sub-
sist in a living stream. Nay, if you can interpose a brook betwixt
you and witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are in perfect safety.
Burns's inimitable Tarn o' Shanter turns entirely upon such a cir-
cumstance. The belief seems to be of antiquity.

Would strike below the knee. — P. 29.
To wound an antagonist in the thigh or leg was reckoned con-
trary to the law of arms.

On many a cairn's grey pyramid. — P. 32.
The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the summit of
most of our Scottish hills, and are found in other remarkable situa-
tions, seem usually, though not universally, to have been sepulchral
monuments. Six fiat stones are commonly found in the' centre,
forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, in which an urn
is often placed.

Fell by the side of great Dundee. — P. 34.
The Viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killicrankie.

Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side. — P. 34.
This person was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for
his Border service a small tower on the frontiers of Liddesdale.

Belted Will Howard is marching here. — P. 35.
Lord William Howard, third son of Thomas, duke of Norfolk.
By a poetical anachronism, he is introduced into the romance a few
years earlier than he actually flourished. He was warden of the
Western Marches; and, from the rigour with which he repressed
the Border excesses, the name of Belted Will Howard is still famous
in our traditions.

And hot Lord Dacre with many a spear. — P. 35.
The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits of one
of their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais, under Richard
Cceur de Lion.

NOTES TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 577

And all the German hackbuck-men. — P. 35.
At the battle of Pinky, there were in the English army 600 hack-
butters on foot, and 200 on horseback, composed chiefly of for-
eigners.

His ready lances Thirlestane brave. — P. 36.
Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of James V.,
and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, &c.,lyiug
upon the river Ettricke, and extending to St. Mary's Loch, at the
head of the Yarrow. In memory of his fidelity, James granted to
bis family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear a border of
fleurs-de-luce, similar to the treasure in the royal arms, with a
bundle of spears for the crest; motto, Ready, aye ready.

Without the bend of Murdieston. — P. 36.
The family of Harden are descended from a younger son of the
laird of Buccleuch, who flourished before the estate of Murdieston
was acquired by the marriage of one of those chieftains with the
heiress in 1296. Hence they bear the cognizance of the Scotts upon
the field ; whereas those of the Buccleuch are disposed upon a bend
dexter, assumed in consequence of that marriage.

Their gathering word was Bellenden. — P. 33.
Bellenden is situated near the head of Borthwiek Water, and bein<»
in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was frequently used
as their place of rendezvous and gathering word.

Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. — P. 41.
A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the an-
cient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke his word,
to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the
first Border meeting. This ceremony was much dreaded.

That he may suffer march-treason pain. — P. 42.
Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, constituted
what was called march-treason. Among others, was the crime of
riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite country during the
time of truce.

Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword.— F. 43.

The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institution,

had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the monarch, but could

be conferred by one who himself possessed it, upon any squire who,

after due probation, was found to merit the honour of chivalry.

When English blood swelled Ancram ford. — P. 43.
The battle of Ancram Moor, or reniel-heuch, was fought a.d.
1545.

Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back. — P. 44.
This was the cognizance of the noble house of Howard in all its
branches.

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name.' — P. 48.
The chief of this potent race of heroes, aboiit the date of the
poem, was Archibald Douglas, seventh Earl of Angus, a man of
great courajre and activity. The Bloody Heart was the well-known
... ,-;/;, in < of the house of Douglas, assumed from the time of Good
Lord James, to whose care Pvobert Bruce committed his heart, to be
carried to the Holy Land.

Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne.—Y. 48.
Sir David Home of Wedderbttrn, who was slain in the fatal battle
of Flodden, left sc7cn suns, who were called the Seven Spears oi
Weddcrburne.

37

578 NOTES TO THE LAY OE THE LAST MINSTfiSL.

And Swinton laid the lance in rest. — P. 48.
At the T>attle of Beauge, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clarence,
brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton of Swinton,
who distinguished him by a coronet set with precious stones,
which he wore around his helmet. The family of Swinton is one of
the most ancient in Scotland, and produced many celebrated warriors.

And shouting still, "A Home! a Home!" — P. 48.
The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient Earls of
March, carried a lion rampant, argent; but, as a difference, changed
the colour of the shield from gules to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw,
their ancient possession. The slogan, or war-cry, of this powerful
family was, " A Home ! a Home I " The Hepburns, a powerful family
m East Lothian, were usually in close alliance with the Homes.

Pursued the foot-ball play . — P. 49.
The foot-ball was anciently a very favourite sport all through
Scotland, but especially upon the Borders.

Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way. — P. ol.
The pursuit of Border marauders was followed by the injured
party and his friends with blood-hounds and bugle-horn, and was
called the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could trace the
scent, to follow the invaders into the opposite kingdom— a privilege
which often occasioned blood-shed.

She wrought not by forbidden gpell. — P. 59.
Popular belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the Church,
made a favourable distinction betwixt magicians and necromancers,
or wizards ; the former were supposed to command the evil spirits,
aud the latter to serve, or at least to be in league and compact with
those enemies of mankind.

A merlin sat upon her wrist. — P. 60.
A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was usually carried by ladies of rank,
as a falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attendant of aknight
or baron.

And princely peacock's gilded train. — P. 60.
The peacock was considered, during the times of chivalry, not
merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a dish of peculiar solemnity.
After being roasted, it was again decorated with its plumage, and a
sponge, dipped in lighted spirits of wine, was placed in its bill. When
it was introduced on days of grand festival, it was the signal for the
adventurous knights to take upon them vows to do some deed of
chivalry, " before the peacock and the ladies."

And o'er the boar-head, garnished brave. — P. 60.
The boar's head was a dish of feudal splendour. In Scotland
it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, displaying the
colours and achievements of the baron at whose board it was
served.

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill. — P. 61.
The Ruth erf ords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border lairds,
whose names occur in history.

But bit his glove, and shook his head. — P. 61.
To bite the thumb, or the glove, seems not to have been con-
sidered upon the Border as a gesture of contempt, though so used
by Shakspeare, but as a pledge of mortal revenge.

The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-braes.—T. 61.
The person bearing this redoubtable nomine de guerre, was an
Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale.

NOTES TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 579

And first stept forth old Albert Grceme. — P. 62.
John Grahame, second son of Malice, Earl of Monteith, commonly
luruaraed John ivith the Bright Sword, upon some displeasure risen
against him at court, retired with niauy of his clau and kindred,
into the English Borders, in the rei^rn of King Henry the Fourth,
where they seated themselves; and many of their posterity hava
continued there ever since.

Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?— -P. 63.
The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was
unquestionably the most accomplished cavalier of his time ; and his
sonnets display beauties which would do honour to a more polished
age. He was beheaded on Tower-hill in 1546 ; a victim to the mean
jealousy of Henry VIII.

Where erst St. Clair s held princely sway. — P. 65.
The St. Clairs are of Norman extraction, being descended from
■William de St. Clair, second son of Walderne Compte de St. Clair,
and Margaret, daughter to Richard Duke of Normandy. He was
called, for his fair deportment, the Seemly St. Clair; and, settling
in Scotland during the reign of Malcolm Ceanmore, obtained large
grants of land in Mid-Lothian. These domains were increased hy
the liberality of succeeding monarchs to the descendants of the
family, and comprehended the baronies of Ilosline, Pentland, Cows-
Land, Cai'daiue, and several others.

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall. — P. 65.
The castle of Kirkwall was built by the St. Clairs, while Earls of
Orkney. It was dismantled by the Earl of Caithness about 1615.

Their barks the dragons of the wave. — P. 65.
The chiefs of the Vakingr, or Scandinavian pirates, assumed the
title of Scekonungr, or Sea-kings. Their ships were often termed the
serpents of the ocean.

Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled. — P. 65.
The jormungandr, or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds surround
the earth, is one of the wildest fictions of the Edda.

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell. — P. 65.
These were the Valkyriur, or Selectors of the Slain, despatched by
Odin from Valhalla, to choose those who were to die, and to distri-
bute the contest.

Their falchions wrenched from corpses' hold.—V. 65.
The northern warriors were usually entombed with their arras,
and their other treasures.

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — V. 66.
This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry St. Clair,
the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth daughter of the Earl
of Strathernc.

Rest thee in Castle Ravenshcuch.—P. 66.
A large and strong castle, now ruinous, Bitnated betwixt Kirk-
caldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, washed by the Frith of Forth.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud.— P. 66.
The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in tolerable prcservai ion.
It was founded in 1443, by William St. Clair, Prinze of Orkney. Ac.
The Barons of Roslin were buried in a vault beneath the chapel floor.
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.— P. 63.
The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle of Man, is Slid to have
)» i ii haunted by an apparition, called, in the Mankish language, the
M" iithe Dooj, in the shape of a large black spaniel, with curled
Bhaggy hair.

6S0 NOTES TO MARMION.

Did to St. Bryde of Douglas make.— P. 68.
This was a favourite saint of the house of Douglas, and of the Earl
of Angus in particular.

MARMION.

He took the Sangreal's holy quest. — P. T8.

One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast with his Knights
of the Bound Table, the Sangreal, or vessel out of which the last
passover was eaten, a precious relic, which had long remained con-
cealed from human eyes, because of the sins of the land, suddenly
appeared to him and all his chivalry. The consequence of this vision
was, that all the knights took on them a solemn vow to seek the
Sangreal. But, alas ! it could only be revealed to a knight at once
accomplished in earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil con-
versation. All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments were there-
fore rendered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queeu Guenever, or
Ganore; and in this holy quest he encountered only disgraceful
disasters.

Day set on Norham's castled steep. — P. 79.

The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanfonl) is
situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above
Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between Eng-
land and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical
importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence as well as
strength. Edward I. resided there when he was created umpire of
the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. In 1161 it was
almost rebuilt by Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who added a
huge keep, or donjon. The ruins of the castle are at present con-
siderable, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered
tower, with many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, enclosed
within an outward wall of great circuit.

The battled towers, the donjon keep. — P. T9.
The donjon, in its proper signification, means the strongest part
of a feudal castle — a high square tower, with walls of tremendous
thickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, from which,
however, it was usually detached. The donjon contained the great
hall, and principal rooms of state for solemn occasions, and also the
prison of the fortress ; from which last circumstance we derive the
modern and restricted use of the word dungeon.

In mail, and plate, of Milan steel- — P. 81.

The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their
skill in armoury.

Who checks at me, to death is dight. — P. 81.

The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from an old story,
Of Tamworth tower and town. — P. 83.

Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present romance, is
entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, indeed, the family
of Marmion, lords of Fontenay, in Normandy, was highly distin-
guished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fontenay, a distinguished
follower of the Conqueror, obtained a grant of the castle and town
of Tamworth, and also of the manor of Scrivelby, in Lincolnshire.
One or both of these noble possessions was held by the honourable
service of being the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion
had formerly been to the Dukes of Normandy; but this office was
afterwards adjudged to Sir John Dymocke, to whom the manor of
Scrivelby had descended, and it still remains in that family.

NOTES TO MARMION. 581

,S'?V Hugh Vie Heron hold.—T. 83.
Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious narrative, this
castellan's name ou^ht to have been William; for William Heron of
Ford was husband to the famous Lady Ford, whose siren charms
Rre said to have cost our James IV. so dear.

Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. — P. 86.
The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York, is well
known. In 1496 he was received honourably in Scotland; and
James IV., after conferring upon him in marriage his own relation,
the Lady Catherine Gordon, made war on England in behalf of his
pretensions. To retaliate an invasion of England, Surrey advanced
into Berwickshire at the head of considerable forces, but retreated
after taking the inconsiderable fortress of Ayton.

And driven the beeves of Lauderdale. — P. 86.
The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and Ber-
tvick, were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome neighbours
to Scotland. Sir Richard Maitland of Ledington wrote a poem,
called " The Blind Baron's Comfort," when his barony of Blythe, in
Kiuderdale, was harried by Rowland Foster, the English captain of
Wark, with his company, to the number of 300 men. They spoiled
tie poetical knight of 5000 sheep, 2C0 nolt, 30 horses and mares; the
whole furniture of his house of Blythe, worth 100 pounds Scots
(£8, 6s. Sd.), and everything else that was portable.

A nd given them light to set their hoods. — P. 86.
This line contains a phrase by which the Borderers jocularly inti-
mated the burning of a house. When the Maxwells, in 1085, burned
I lie castle of Lochwood, they said they did so to give the Lady
Johnstone "light to set her hood."

The Priest of Shoreswood — he could rein. — P. 87.
This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the vicar of
St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish insurgents of 1549.

Saint Rosalie retired to God. — P. 88.
Dryden, in his " Voyage to Sicily," says, " Sante Rosalia was of
Falerrno, and born of a very noble family, and when very young,
abhorred so much the vanities of this world, and avoided the con-
verse of mankind, resolving to dedicate herself wholly to God
Almighty, that she, by divine inspiration, forsook her father's
house, and never was more heard of, till her body was found in that
cleft of a rock, on that almost inaccessible mountain where now the
chapel is built."

The summoned Palmer came in place.— V. 89.
A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it his solo
business to visit different holy shrines, travelling incessantly, and
subsisting by charity; whereas the Pilgrim retired to his usual
home and occupations when he had paid liis devotions at the par-
ticular spot which was the object of his pilgrimage. The Palmers
seem to have been the Quastionarii of the ancient Scottish canons
1212 and 1296.

Where good St. Rule his holy lay. — P. 90.
St. Regulus (Scottice, St. Rule), a monk of Patrne, in Achaia.
warned by a vision, is said, a.d. 370, to have sailed westward, until
he landed at St. Andrews in Scotland, where he founded a chapel and
tower. The latter is still standing; and. though we may doubt the
precise date of its foundation, is certainly one of the most ancient
edifices in Scotland. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous castle of
the Archbishops of St. Andrews, bears the name of this religious
|>erson. It is difficult of access; and the rock iu which it is hewed
is washed by the German Ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet

5B2 NOTES TO MARMIOX.

in diameter, and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone
altar; on the other an aperture into an inner den, where the miser-
able ascetic who inhabited this dwelling probably slept. At full
tide, egress and regress is hardly practicable. As Regulus first
colonized the metropolitan see of Scotland, and converted the inha-
bitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to complain that the
ancient name of Killrule (Cdla Reguli) should have been superseded,
even in favour of the tutelar saint of Scotland. The reason of the
change was, that St. Rule is said to have brought to Scotland the
relics of St. Andrew.

Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well. — P. 90.
St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. There are, in
Perthshire, several wells and springs dedicated to St. Fillan, which
arc still piaces of pilgrimage and offerings, even among the Protes-
tants. They are held powerful in cases of madness.

W here flourished once a forest fair. — P. 91.
Ettricke Forest, now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, was
anciently reserved for the pleasure of the royal chase. Since it was
disparked, the wood has been by degrees almost totally destroyed,
although, wherever protected from sheep, copses soon arise without
any planting. When the king hunted there, he often summoned
the array of the country to meet and assist his sport.

Where erst the Outlaw drew his arrow. — P. 92.
The talc of the outlaw Murray, who held out Newark Castle and
Fttricke Forest against the king, may be found in the " Border
Minstrelsy," vol. i.

By lone Saint Mary's silver lake. — P. 94.
This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which the
Yarrow takes its source. It is connected with a smaller lake, called
the Loch of the Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. In the
winter it is still frequented by flights of wild swaus; hence Words-
worth's lines : —

" The swans on sweet St. Mary's lake
float double, swan and shadow."

Near the lower extremity of the lake are the ruins of Dryhope
Tower, the birth-place of Mary Scott_, daughter of Philip Scott of
Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the Flower of
Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of Harden, no less re-
nowned for his depredations than his bride for her beauty.

Hath laid Our Lady's Chapel low. — P. 94.
The chapel of Saint Mary of the Lowes (de Iambus) was situated
on the eastern side of the lake to which it gives name. The vestiges
of the building can now scarcely be traced; but the burial-ground
is still used as a cemetery.

To sit upon the Wizard's grave. — P. 95.
At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, but
without its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram's corse, where
tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic priest, the former
tenant of the chaplainry.

Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. — P. 96.
A mountain lake of considerable size, at the head of the Moffat
V,Tater. The character of the scenery is uncommonly savage ; and
the erne, or Scottish eagle, has for many ages built its nest yearly
upon an islet in the lake. A brook issues from Loch-skene, which,
after a short and precipitate course, forms a cataract of immense
height and gloomy grandeur, called, from its appearance, the "Grey
Mare's Tail." The " Giant's Grave," afterwards mentioned, is a sort
of trench, which bears that name, a little way from the foot of the
cataract.

NOTES TO MAtlHIOX. 533

Whtrefrom high Whitby's cloistered pile— ¥. 96.

The abbey of Whitby, in tlie Archdeaconry of Cleveland, on the
const of Yorkshire, was founded ad. 657, in consequence of a vow
of Oswy, king of Northumberland. It contained both monks and
nuns of the Benedictine order ; but, contrary to what was usual in
such establishments, the abbess was superior to the abbot Its
ruins are very magnificent. — Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of
Northumberland, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its
ancient monastery, and from its having been the episcopal seat of the
see of Durham during the early ages of British Christianity. A
succession of holy men held that office ; but their merits were swal-
lowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth bishop
of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " patrimony" upon
the extensive property of the see. The ruins of the monastery upon
Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The arches are in general
strictly Saxon ; and the pillars which support them, short, strong,
and massy. In some places, however, there are pointed windows,
which indicate that the building has been repaired at a period long
subsequent to the original foundation. The exterior ornaments of
the building, being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, as
described in the text. ■

Must menial service do. — P. 101.
The popular account of this curious service is given in "A Truo
Account," printed and circulated at Whitvy.

The lovely Edclfled.—V. 101.
She was the daughter of King Oswy, who, in gratitude to Heaven
f r the great ■victory which he won in 656 against Penda, the pagan
king of Mercia, dedicated Edelfleda, then but a year old, to the ser-
vice of God in the monastery of Whitby, of which St. Hilda was
then abbess. She afterwards adorned the place of her education
with great magnificence.

And how, of thousand snakes, each one. — P. 101.
The relics of the snakes which infested the precincts of the con-
vent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not only beheaded, but petri-
fied, are still found about the rocks, and are termed by Protestant
fossilists Ammonitce.

They to'd how sea-fowls' pillions fail. — P. 101.

Mr. Charlton, in his History of Whitby, points out the true origin
of the fable, from the number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a
storm, often alight near Whitby ; and from the woodcocks, and other
1 irda of passage, who do the same upon their arrival on shore, after
a long flight.

His body's resting-place of old. — P. 101.

St. Cuthbert was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of the most
mutable and unreasonable saints in the calendar. He died a.d. 6St>,
in a hermitage upon the Fame Islands, having resigned the 1 ishopric
< f Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, about two years before. His body,
after having 1 eon carried hither and thither, was at last taken to a
place named Wardlaw, or Wardilaw. Here the Saint chose his place
of residence ; and all who have seen Durham must admit that, if
difficult in his choice, he evinced taste in at leDgth fixing it. It is
said that the Northumbrian Catholics still keep secret the precise
spot of the Saint's sepulture, which is only intrusted to three per-
sons at a time. When one dies, the survivors associate to them, in
his room, a person judged fit to be the depositary of so valuable a
secret.

Before his standard fled.— -P. 102.

When David I., with his son Henry, invaded Northumberland in
1136, the English host marched against them under the holy banner
of St. Cuthbert; to the efficacy of which was imputed the great

584 NOTES TO MARMION.

victory which they obtained in the bloody battle of Northallerton,
or vjucon Moor.

And turned the Conqueror hack again. — P. 102.
Cuthbert had no great reason to spare the Danes when opportun-
ity offered. Accordingly, I find in Simeon of Durham that the
Saint appeared in a vision to Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of
Glastonbury, and promised him assistance and victory over his
heathen enemies.: a consolation which, as was reasonable, Alfred,
after the victory of Ashendown, rewarded, by a royal offering at the
shrine of the Saint. As to William the Conqueror," the terror spread
before his army, when he marched to punish the revolt of the North-
umbrians, in 1096, had forced the monks to fly once more to Holy
Island with the body of the Saint. It was, however, replaced before
William left the North; and, to balance accounts, the Conqueror
having intimated an indiscreet curiosity to view the Saint's body,
lie was, while in the act of commanding the shrine to be opened,
seized with heat and sickness, accompanied with such a panic terror,
that, notwithstanding there was a sumptuous dinner prepared for
him, he fled without eating a morsel, and never drew his bridle till
lie got to the river Tees.

The sea-born beads, that bear his name. — P. 102.
Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, during his life, such
an artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, since his death,
lie has acquired the reputation of forging those Entrochi which are
found among the rocks of Holy Island, and pass there by the name
of St. Cuthbert's Beads. While at this task, he is supposed to sit
during the night upon a certain rock, and use another as his anvil.

Old Colwulf built it for his fault— -P. 103.
Coelwolf, or Colwulf, king of Northumberland, flourished in the
eighth century. He was a man of some learning; for the Venerable
Bode dedicates to him his "Ecclesiastical History." He abdicated
the throne about V3S, and retired to Holy Island, where he died in
the odour of sanctity.

Tynemouth' s haughty Prioress. — P. 104.
That there was an ancient priory at Tynemouth is certain. Its
ruins are situated on a high rocky point : and, doubtless, many a
vow was made the shrine by the distressed mariners, who drove to-
wards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland in stormy weather.
It was anciently a nunnery; for Virca, abbess of Tynemouth, pre-
sented St. Cuthbert (yet alive) with a rare winding-sheet, in emula-
tion of a hoiy lady called Tuda, who had sent him a coffin : but, as
in the case of Whitby and of Holy Island, the introduction of nuns
at Tynemouth, in the reign of Henry VIII., is an anachronism. The
nunnery at Holy Island is altogether fictitious.

Alive, within the tomb. — P. 106.
It is well known that the religious, who broke their vows of
chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Boman vestals
in a similar case. A small niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies,
was made in the massive wall of the convent; a slender pittance of
food and water was deposited in it, and the awful words, Vade in
pacrm, were the signal for immuring the criminal. Among the ruins
of the abbey of Coldingham were some years ago discovered the
remains of a female skeleton, which, from the shape of the niche
and position of the figure, seemed to be that of an mmiured nun.

The death of a dear friend— -P. 119._
Among other omens to which faithful credit is given among the
Scottish peasantry, is what is called the " dead-bell," explained, by
my friend James Hogg, to be that tinkling in the ears which the
country people regard as the secret intelligence of some friend's
decease.

NOTES TO MAIUIIOX. 5S5

Tlu founder of the Goblin Hall.—T. 121.
A vaulted hall under the ancient castle of Gjfford, or Yester ("for
H. bears either name indifferently), the construction of which has,
from a very remote period, been ascribed to magic.

There floated Haco's banner trim. — P. 121.
In 1263, Haco, king of Norway, came into the Frith of Clyde with
a powerful armament, and made a descent at Largs, in Ayrshire.
Ilere he was encountered and defeated, on the 2d October, by Alex-
ander III. Haco retreated to Orkney, where he died soon after this
disgrace to his arms.

But, in his wizard habit strange. — P. 122.
" Magicians, as is well known, were very curious in the choice and
form of their vestments. Their caps are oval, or like pyramids,
with lappets on each side, and fur within. Their gowns are long,
and furred with fox-skins, under which they have a linen garment,
reaching to the knee. Their girdles are three inches broad, and
have many cabalistical names, with crosses, trines, and circles
inscribed on them. Their shoes should be of new russet leather,
with a cross cut upon them. Their knives are dagger fashion ; and
their swords have neither guard nor scabbard." — Reginald Scott.

Upon his breast a pentacle. — P. 122.
"A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five corners,
according to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with characters.
This the magician extends towards the spirits which he evokes,
when they are stubborn and rebellious, and refuse to be conformable
unto the ceremonies and rites of magic." — Reginald Scott.

As born upon that blessed night. — P. 122.
It is a popular article of faith that those who are born on Christ-
mas or Good Friday have the power of seeing spirits, and even of
commanding them.

Scarce had lamented Forbes paid.— P. 129.
Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet; unequalled, perhaps, in
the degree of individual affection entertained for him by his friends,
as well as in the general respect and esteem of Scotland at large.

Been lanthornled by Friar Rush. — P. 132.
This personage is a strolling demon, or esprit follet, who, once upon
a time, srot admittance into a monastery as a scullion, and played
the monks many pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Goodfellow,
and Jack o' Lanthorn.

Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank.—V. 135.
A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about seven
Biilcs from Edinburgh. As indicated in the text, it was built at
different times, and with a very differing regard to splendour and
accommodation. The oldest part of the'building is a narrow keep,
or tower, such as formed the mansion of a lesser Scottish baron ;
1 'lit so many additions have been made to it that there is now a
large court-yard, surrounded by buildings of different ages. The
eastern front of the court is raised above a portico, and decorated
with entablatures, bearing anchors. All the stones of this front are
cut into diamond facets, the angular projections of which have an
uncommonly rich appearance. The inside of this part of the build-
ing appears to have contained a gallery of great length and uncom-
mon elegance. Access was given to it by a magnificent staircase,
now quite destroyed. The soffits are ornamented with twining
c ordage and rosettes; and the whole seems to have been far more
rplendid than was usual in Scottish castles. It belonged originally
to the Chancellor Sir William Crichton.

586 NOTES TO MARMION.

Earl Adam Hepburn— he who died. — P. 1S5.

Tie was the second Earl of Botliwell, and fell in the field ol
Flodden, where, according to au ancient English poet, he dis-
tinguished himself by a furious attempt to retrieve the day. Adam
was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, too well known in the
history of Queen Mary.

June saiv his father's overthrow. — P. 187.
The rebellion against James III. was signalized by the cruel cir-
cumstance of his son's presence in the hostile army. When the
king saw his own banner displayed against him, and his son in the
faction of his enemies, he lost the little courage he ever possessed,
fled out of the field, fell from his horse as it started at a woman and
water-pitcher, and was slain, it is not well understood by whom.
James IV., after the battle, passed to Stirling, and hearing the
monks of the chapel-royal deploring the death of his father, their
founder, he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itself
in severe penances. The battle of Sauchieburn, in which James III.
fell, was fought 18th June 1488.

Spread all the Borough-Moor below.— P. 142.
The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh, was of very great
extent, reaching from the southern walls of the city to the bottom
of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest ; and, in that state, was so
great a nuisance, that the inhabitants of Edinburgh had permission
granted them of building wooden galleries, projecting over the
street, in order to encourage them to consume the timber ; which
they seem to have done very effectually. When James IV. mustered
the array of the kingdom there iu 1513, the Borough-Moor was,
according to Hawthornden, " a field spacious, and delightful by the
shade of many stately and aged oaks."

The rteddy Lion ramped in gold. — P. 143.
The well-known arms of Scotland. If you will believe Boethius
and Buchanan, the double trossure round the shield, counter fieur-
de-lised or, lingued and armed azure, was first assumed by Achaius,
king of Scotland, contemporary of Charlemagne, and founder of the
celebrated League with France; but later antiquaries make poor
Eochy or Achy' little better than a sort of king of Brentford, wuom
old Grig (who has also swelled into Gregorius Magnus), associated
with himself in the important duty of governing some part of the
north-eastern coast of Scotland.

True, Caledonia's Queen is changed.— V. 145.
The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north side by a
lake, and on the south side by a wall, which there was some attempt
to make defensible even so late as 1745.

To Henry meek she gave repose. — P. 148. .
Henry VI., with his queen, h;s heir, and the chiefs of his family,
fled to 'Scotland after the fatal battle of Towton. It is doubtful
whether he came to Edinburgh, though his queen certainly did.

The cloth-yard arrows fleiv like hail.—T. 150.
This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of the counties of
Fngland,' distinguished for archery, shafts of this extraordinary
length were actually used. Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, be-
tween the troops of Henry VII. and the Cornish insurgents, in
1490, the Bridge of Dartford was defended by a picked band of
archers from the rebel army, "whose arrows," says Hollmshed,
" were in length a full cloth-yard."

To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. — P. 150.
See Lord Herbert's Life for an account of the airs of war-horses.

KOTES TO XAKMIOK, 537

Tie sate the hard;/ burghers there. — r. ICO.

The Scottish burgesses were, like yeomen, appointed to be armed
tviih bbwes ami sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spear, or a good axe
instead of a bow, if worth £100 ; their armour to be of white or
bright harness. They wore white hats, that is, bright steel caps, with-
out crest or visor. By an act of James IV., their weapon-sha wings
are appointed to be held four times a-year, under the aldermen or
bailiffs.

His arms were halbard, axe, or spear. — P. 150.
Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the peasantry of
Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes seem universally to
have been used instead of them. Their defensive armour was the
plate-jack, hauberk, or brigautinc ; and their missile weapons eross-
bows and rul verbis. All wore swords of excellent temper. The
mace also was much used. When the feudal array of the kingdom
was called forth, each man w;is obliged to appear with forty days'
provision. When this was expended, which took place before the
battle of Flodden, the army melted away, of course.

A banquet rich, and costly wines. — P. 153.
In all transactions of great or petty importance, and among
whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of wine was
an uniform and indispensable preliminary.

The pressure of his iron belt. — P. 151.
Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weight of
which James added certain ounces every year that he lived. The
person and character of James are delineated according to our best
historians. His romantic disposition, which led him highly to relish
gaiety, approaching to license, was, at the same time, tinged with
enthusiastic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a
strange contrast. He was went, during his fits of devotion, to
assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Francis-
cans ; and when he had thus done penance for some time in Stirling,
to plunge again into the tide of pleasure.

Sir ITugh the ITeron's wife held sway. — P. 151.
King James's acquaintance with Lady Heron of Ford did not com-
mence until he marched into England. Our historians impute to
the king's infatuated passion the delays which led to the fatal defeat
of Flodden.

Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove. —P. 155.
A turquois ring; probably this fatal gift is, with James's sword
and dagger, preserved in the College of Heralds, London.

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat.—Y. 158.
Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for strength
of body and mind, acquired the popular name of BM-the-Cat.

Against the war had Angus stood. — P. 158.
Angus was an old man when the war against England was resolved
upon, He earnestly spoke against that measure from its commence-
ment; and, on the eve of the battle of Flodden, remonstrated so
freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the King said to him, with
scorn and indignation, " if he was afraid, he might go home." The
Earl burst into tears at this insupportable insult, and retired accord-
ingly, leaving bis sons, George master of Angus, and Sir William
of Glenbervie, to command his fobowcrs. They were both slain in
the battle, with two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas.
The aged Earl, 1 roken-hearted at the calamities of his house and his
country, retired into a religious house, where he died about a year
after the field of Flodden.

Sy» NOTES TO MARMION.

Then rest you in Tantallon Ilold. — P. 15S.

The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into
the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Berwick. The
circuit is of large extent, fenced upon three sides by the precipice
which overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by a double ditch
and very strong outworks. Tantallon was a principal castle of
the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Angus was banished,
in 1527, it continued to hold out against James V. The castle and
barony were sold in the beginning of the eighteenth century to
President Dalrymple of North Berwick, by the then Marquis of
Douglas.

He wears their motto on his blade. — P. 158.
A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears,
among a great deal of flourishing, two hands pointing to a heart,
which is placed betwixt them, aud the date 1S29, being the year in
which Bruce charged the Good Lord Douglas to carry his heart to
the Holy Land. It resembles a Highland claymore, of the usual size,
aud is of an excellent temper.

Perchance some form was unobserved. — P. 162.

It was early necessary for those who felt themselves obliged to
believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the trial by
duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously precarious chances
of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used by those who
took up an unrighteous quarrel, were supposed sufficient to convert
it into a just one.

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone.— T. 164.
The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious structure.
The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in diameter,
and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there was a pillar, and
between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. Above these was a
projecting battlement, with a turret at each corner, and medallions,
of rude but curious workmanship, between them. Above this rose
the proper Cross, a column of one stone, upwards of twenty feet
high, surmounted with an unicorn. From the tower of the Cross,
so long as it remained, the heralds published the Acts of Parlia-
ment ; and its site, marked by radii, diverging from a stone centre,
in the High Street, is still the place where proclamations are made.

Before a venerable pile. — P. 166.
The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cistertian nuns, near
North Berwick, of which there are still some remains. It was
founded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 1216.

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry. — P. 168.
This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion, in
tli3 reign of King Stephen. The whole story is told by William of
Newbury.

At Iol more deep the mead did drain. — P. 1T0.

The Iol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christmas in
Scotland), was solemnized with great festivity. The humour of the
Panes at table displayed itself in pelting each other with bones.
The dances of the northern warriors round the great fires of pine-
trees are commemorated by Olaus Magnus, who says, they danced
with such fury, holding each other by the hands, that, if the grasp
of any failed, he was pitched into the fire with the velocity of a
sling.

On Christmas eve the mass was sung. — P. 171.

Tn Roman Catholic countries mass is never said at night, except
on Christmas eve.

NOTES TO MABJ1ION. 589

Traces of ancient mystery. — P. 172.

The Mummers of Eugland and the Guisards of Scotland present,
iu some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which
were the origin of the English drama.

Will on a Friday mom look pale. — P. 173.

The Daoine shi', or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlanders,
rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than the English Fairies.
Notwithstanding their name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent,
at least peevish, discontented, and apt to do mischief on slight pro-
vocation. The belief of their existence is deeply impressed on the
Highlanders, who think they are particularly offended with mortals
who talk of them, who wear their favourite colour, green, or in any
respect interfere with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided
on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in
Germany, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or
for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed of
greater powers.

By the last lord of Franchemont. — P. 174.

It is firmly believed by the peasantry, in the neighbourhood of
Franchemont, that the last Baron deposited, in one of the vaults of
the castle, a ponderous chest, containing an immense treasure in
gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, was intrusted to the
care of the devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the
shape of a huntsman. Any one adventurous enough to touch the
chest, is instantly seized with the palsy. Yet if anybody can dis-
cover the mystic words used by the person who deposited the
treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must instantly decamp.

The very form of Hilda fair. — P. 177.
It is believed by many that Lady Hilda still renders herself visible
on some occasions in the abbey of Streanshalh, or 'Whitby, where
she so long resided.

A bishop by the altar stood. — P. 181.
The well-known Gawaiu Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, son of Archi-
bald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of a Scottish met-
rical version of the iEneid, and of many other poetical pieces of
great merit. He had not at this period attained the mitre.

As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.— P. 182.
Angus had strength and personal activity corresponding to his
courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favourite of James IV., having
spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and com-
pelling him to single combat, at one blow cut asunder his thigh
bone, and killed him on the spot.

Where Lennel's convent closed their march. — P. 1S6.

This was a Cistertian house of religion, now almost entirely demo-
lished, situated near Coldstream, almost opposite to Cornhill, and
consequently very near to Flodden Field.

The Till by Twisel Bridge.— P. 1S6.

The battle of Flodden was fought on 9th September, 1513. The
ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English crossed the Till, is
still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a splendid pile of Gothic archi-
tecture, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake, Bart., whose extensive
plantations have so much improved the country around. The gleu is
romantic and delightful, with steep banks on each side, covered
with copse, particularly with hawthorn. Beneath a tall rock, near
the bridge, is- a plentiful fountain, called St. Helen's Well.

With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight.— P. 189.
Sir Brian Tunstall, called, in the romantic language of the time,
Tunstall the Undcfilcd, was one of the few Englishmen of rank slam

530 NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

at Flodden. Tunstall, perhaps, derived his epithet of undefilcd froin
his white armour and banner, the latter bearing a white cock about
to crow, as well as from his unstained loyalty and knightly faith.
His place of residence was Thurland Castle.

View not that corpse mistrustfully. — P. 19C.
There can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle of Flod-
den. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, within a
lance's length of theHarl of Surrey; and the same account adds,
that none of his division were made prisoners, though many were
killed; a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their re-
sistance. Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the
king's fate, and averred that James, weary of greatness after the
carnage among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage to merit absolu-
tion for the death of his father, and the breach of his oath of amity
to Henry. In particular, it was objected to the English, that they
could never show the token of the iron belt; which, however, he
was likely enough to have laid aside on the day of battle, as encum-
bering his personal exertions. They produce a better evidence,
the monarch's sword and dagger, which are still preserved in the
Heralds' College in London.

The fair cathedral stormed and took. — P. 196.
This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been garrisoned on
the part of the king, took place in the great civil war. Lord Brook,
who, with Sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot with a
musket-ball through the visor of his helmet. The magnificent
church in question suffered cruelly upon this and other occasions,
the principal spire being ruined by the fire of the besiegers.

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Disturbed the heights of Uam-var. — P. 202.
Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaigh-mor,
is a mountain to the north-east of the village of Callander in Men-
t.eith, deriving its name, which signifies " the great den," or cavern,
from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, by
tradition, to have been the abode of a giant.

Two dogs of black St. Huberts breed.— -P. 203.
" The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's hounds, are commonly
ail blacke, yet neuertheless, their race is so mingled at these days,
that we find them of all colours. These are the hounds which the
abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept some of their race or kind,
in honour or remembrance of the saiut, which was a hunter with S.
Eustace." — Art of Venerie, or Hunting.

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. — P. 206.
Until the present road was made through the romantic pass
which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the preced-
ing stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile called the
Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches
and roots of the trees.

Was on the visioned future bent. — P. 210.
If force of evidence could authorize us to believe facts inconsis-
tent with the general laws of nature, enough might be produced in
favour of the existence of the second-sight. It is called in Gaelic
Taishitaraugh, from Taish, an unreal or shadowy appearance ; and
those possessed of the faculty are called Taishatrin, which may be
aptly translated " visionaries. "

NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE 501

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. — P. 211.
The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed to
peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, some
place of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as circumstances
would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut, in a strong and
secluded situation.

Of Ferragus or Ascabart.—V. 213.
These two sons of Anak flourished in romantic fable. The first is
well known to the admirers of Ariosto, by the name of Ferrau. He
was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at length slain by him i a
single combat. Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure
in the History of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was conquered.

Though all unasked his birth or name. — P. 213.
The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to a punctilious excess,
are said to have considered it as churlish to ask a stranger his name
or lineage, before he had taken refreshment. Feuds were so fre-
quent among them, that a contrary rule would, in many cases, have
produced the discovery of some circumstance which might have
excluded the guest from the benefit of the assistance he stood iu
need of.

Morn's genial influence waked a minstrel grey. — P. 216.
Highland chieftains, to a kite period, retained in their service the
bard, as a family officer.

Poured forth the glory of the Grceme. — P. 219.
The ancient and powerful family of Graham (which, for metrical
reasons, is here spelled after the Scottish pronunciation), held
extensive possessions in the counties of Dumbarton and Stirling.

This harp uhich erst Saint Modan swayed. — P. 219.
I a7n not prepared to show that Saint Modan was a performer on
the harp. It was, however, no unsaintly accomplishment; for Saint
Dunstan certainly did play upon that instrument, which, retaining,
as was natural, a portion of the sanctity attached to its master's
character, announced future events by its spontaneous sound.

Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven. — P. 219.
The downfall of the Douglasses of the house of Angus, during the
reign of James V., is the event alluded to in the text.

Disoivned by every noble peer. — P. 221.

The exiled state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in this
and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against the race of
Douglas was so inveterate, that, numerous as their allies were, and
disregarded as the regal authority had usually beeu in similar cases,
their nearest friends, even in the most remote parts of Scotland,
durst not entertain them, unless under the strictest and closest dis-
guise.

A votaress in Marorman's cell. — P. 222.

The parish of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch
Lomond, derives its name from a cell or chapel, dedicated to taint
Marouoch, or Marnoch, or Maronan.

But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave. — P. 222.
This is a beautiful cascade made at a place called the Bridge of
Bracklinn, by a mountain stream called the Keltic, about a mile
from the village of Callander, in Menteith.

J r Tine-man forged by fairy lore. — P. 223.
Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate in all his
enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tinf.-max, b^
lined, or lost, his followers in every battle which he fou

592 NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Did, self-unscabbarded, fore-show. — P. 223.
The ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested chiefly in
their blades, were accustomed to deduce omens from them, especi-
ally from such as were supposed to have been fabricated by en-
chanted skill.

Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe! — P. 225.
Besides his ordinary name and surname, every Highland chief had
an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan,
and which was common to all his predecessors and successors.

Malise, what ho! — his hench-man came.—V. 233.
This officer was a sort of secretary, and was upon all occasions to
venture his life in defence of his master; and at drinking-bouts he
stood behind his seat, at his haunch, from whence his title is de-
rived, and watched the conversation, to see if any one offended his
patron.

And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. — P. 234.
When a chieftain designed to summon his clan, upon any sudden
or important emergency, he slew a goat, and making a cross of any
light wood, seared its extremities in the fire, and extinguished them
in the blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery Cross, also
Crean Tarigh, or the Cross of Shame, because disobedience to what
the symbol implied, inferred infamy. It was delivered to a swift
and trusty messenger, who ran full speed with it to the next ham-
let, where he presented it to the principal person, with a single
word, implying the place of rendezvous. He who received the sym-
bol was bound to send it forward, with equal despatch, to the next
village ; and thus it passed with incredible celerity through all the
district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also among his allies
and neighbours, if the danger was common to them. At sight of
the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, capable
of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best arms
and accoutrements, to the place of rendezvous. He who failed to
appear suffered the extremities of fire and sword, which were em-
blematically denounced to the disobedient by the bloody and burnt
marks upon this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-6, the
Fiery Cross often made its circuit ; and upon one occasion it passed
through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of thirty-two
miles, in three hours.

That Monk, of savage form and face. — P. 236.
The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considerable
facilities for those whose mode of life excluded them from regular
worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistance of confes-
sors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of their doctrine to the
necessities and peculiar circumstances of their flock. Robin Hood,
it is well known, had his celebrated domestic chaplain, Friar
Tuck.

The virgin snood did Alice wear. — P. 236.
The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided her hair,
had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden cha-
racter. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she
passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was
so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, with-
out gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to
use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch.

Beheld the River Daemon rise. — P. 237.
The River Dfenion, or River Horse, for it is that form which he
commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and
malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness calamity.
He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers.

K0TE3 TO THE LADY OF TI1E LAKE. 503

Of noontide hag, or goblin grim. — P. 207.
The " noontide hag," called in Gaelic Glas-lich, a tall, emaciated,
gigantic female figure, is supposed in particular to haunt the dis-
trict of Knoidart. A goblin dressed in antique armour, and having
ono hand covered with blood, called, from that circumstance,
Lham-dearg, or Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenniore
and Kothiemurchus.

The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream. — P. 237.
Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a
tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who took an
interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any
approaching disaster. The Ben-Shie implies the female fairy, whose
lamentations were often supposed to precede the death ot a chief-
tain of particular families. When she is visible, it is in the form of
an old woman, with a blue mantle and streaming hair.

Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast. — P. 238.
A presage of the kind alluded to in the text is still believed to
announce death to the ancient Highland family of MacLean of
Lochbuy.

Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave. — P. 238.
Ineh-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most
beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch-Lomond.

Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide. — P. 240.
The ancient buskin was made of the undressed deer's hide, with
the hair outward ; a circumstance which procured the Highlanders
the well-known epithet of Red-shanks.

The dismal Coronach resound. — P. 241.
The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ululatus of tho
Romans, and the Ulaloo of the Irish, was a wild expression of lamen-
tation poured forth by the mourners over the body of a departed
friend. When the words of it were articulate, they expressed
the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan would sustain by
his death.

Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze. — P. 246.
The heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that tho
sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage.

Xo oath but. By his Chieftain's hand. — P. 246.
The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clansmen to
their chief, rendered this both a common and a solemn oath.

lias Coir-nan- Uristtn been sung. — P. 247-
This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the moun-
tain of Ben- Venue, overhanging the south-eastern extremity of L • -
Katrine. The name literally implies the Corri, or Den, of the Wild
or Shaggy Men. Tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, who gives
name to the cavern, a figure between a goat ami a man ; in short,
however much the classical reader maybe startled, precisely that of
the Grecian Satyr.

Through the wild pass of Beal'-nam-Bo. — P. 248.
Bcalach-nam-Bo, or the pass of cattle, is a most magnificent glade,
overhung with aged birch trees, a little higher up the mountain
than the Coir-nan- Uriskin.

A single page to bear his sword, — P. 248.

A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as

any prince, had a corresponding number of officers attached to his

person. Besides his body-guards, called Luidit-tach, he had the

Henchman; the Bard; the Bladier, or spokesman; the Gilliemore,

38

59-4 NOTES TO THE LADY OP THE LAKE.

or sword-bearer; the Gillie-casf.ue, who carrie 1 the chief, if on foot,
over the fords ; the Gillic-comstraine, who leads the chief's horse ;
the Gillie-trushanarinsh, the baggage-man ; the Piper; the pipers
Gillie, or attendant, who carries the bagpipe.

The Taghairm called, by which, afar. — P 251.
The Highlanders had various superstitious modes of inquiring
into futurity. One of the most noted was the Taghairm, mentioned
in the test. A person was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain
bullock, and deposited in some strange, wild, and unusual situation,
where the scenery around him suggested nothing but objects of
horror. In this situation he revolved in his mind the question pro-
posed, and whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted imagi-
nation, passed for the inspiration of the disembodied spirits, who
haunt these desolate recesses.

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. — P. 252.
There is a rock so named in the forest of Glenfmlas, by which a
tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place is said in for-
mer times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was supplied
with provisions by a woman, who lowered them down from the brink
of the precipice above. His water he procured for himself by let-
ting down a flagon tied to a string, into the black pool beneath the
fell.

Which spills the foremost foeman's life. — P. 253.

Though this be in the text described as a response of the Tag-
hairm, or Oracle of the Hide, it was of itself an augury frequently
attended to. The fate of the battle was often anticipated in tiie
imagination of the combatants, by observing which party first shed
blood.

Beloved of our Elfin Queen. — P. 256.

Fairies, if not positively malevolent, are capricious, and easily
offended. They are, like other proprietors of forests, peculiarly
jealous of their rights of vert and venison.

The fairie's fatal green. — P. 257.
As the Daoine Shi', or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they were
6upposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume their
favourite colour. Indeed, from some reason, which has been, per-
haps, originally a general superstition, green is held in Scotland to
be unlucky to particular tribes and counties. The Caithness men,
who hold this belief, allege, as a reason, that their bands wore that
colour when thev were cut off at the battle of Flodden. Green is
also disliked by those of the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is
it held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame.

For thou icert christened man. — P. 257.

The Elves were supposed greatly to envy the privileges acquired
by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who hi
fallen into their power a certain precedence, founded upon this
advantageous distinction.

But all is glistening show. — P. 258.

No fact respecting Fairy-laud seems to be better ascertained than
the fantastic and illusory nature of their apparent pleasure and
splendour.

And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away.— P. 258.

The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions of
humanity by a sort of crimping svstem, whicli extended to adults as
well as to infants. Many of those who were in this world supposed
to have discharged the debt of nature, had only become denizens of
the " Lcnde of Faery."

NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 595

The Gael, of plain and river heir. — P. 270.

Tic Gael, or Highlanders, never forgot that the Lowlands had, at

fo;ne remote period, been the property of their Celtic forefathers;

which furnished an ample vindication of all the ravages that they

eould make on the unfortunate districts which lay within their roach.

On Bnchastle the mouldering lines. — P. 2T3.
The torrent which discharges itself from Loeh-Vennachar, the
lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the scenery ad-
joining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and extensive moor,
called Boehastle. Upon a small eminence, called the Dun of Bo-
ehastle, and indeed on the plain itself, are some intrenchments
which have heen thought Roman.

That 07i the field his targe he threw. — P. 2T4.
A rotmd target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and
studded with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a Highlander's
equipment. In charging regular troops, they received the thrust of
the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it aside, and used the broad-
sword against the encumbered soldier.

Tlie burghers hold their sports to-day. — P. 278.
Every burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but more especially
the considerable towns, had their solemn play, or festival, when
feats of archery were exhibited, and prizes distributed to those who
excelled in wrestling, hurling the bar, and the other gymnastic exer-
cises of the period. The usual prize to the best shooter was a silver
arrow. At Dumfries, a silver gun was substituted, and the conten-
tion transferred to fire-arms.

Bold Robin Tlood and all his band.— P. 279.
The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was a
favourite frolic at such festivals as wc are describing. This sport,
in which kings did not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Scot-
land upon the Reformation, by a statute of the 6th parliament of
Queen Mary, c. 61, a.d. 1555. It would seem, however, from the
complaints of the General Assembly of the Kirk, that these profane
festivities were continued down to 1502.

To Douglas gave a golden ring. — P. 2S0.
The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the ani-
mal would have embarrassed my story.

These drew not for their fields the sword. — P. 286.

The Scottisli armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and barons,
with their vassals, who held lands under them, for military service
by themselves and their tenants. The patriarchal influence exer-
cised by the heads of clans in the Highlands and Borders was of a
different nature, and sometimes at variance with feudal principles.
It flowed from the patria potestas, exercised by the chieftain as
representing the original father of the whole name, and was often
obeyed in contradiction to the feudal superior. James V. seems first
to have introduced, in addition to the militia furnished from these
sources, the service of a small number of mercenaries, who formed a
body-guard, called the Foot- Band.

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp. — P. 288.

The jongleurs, or jugglers, used to call in the aid of various
assistants, to render these performances as captivating as possible.
The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty was tum-
bling and dancing.

Of yore the name of Snowdovn claims. — P. 301.

William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the fifteenth
century, calls Stirling Castle, Snowdoun. Sir David Lindsay bestows
the same epithet upon it.

51)6 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DOS RODERICK.

THE VISION OP DON RODERICK.

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung. — P. 306.
This locality may startle those readers who do not recollect that
touch of the ancient poetry preserved in Wales refers less to the his-
tory of the principality to which that name is now limited than to
events which happened in the north-west of England and south-west
of Scotland, where the Britons for a long time made a stand against
the Saxons. The battle of Oattraeth, lamented by the celebrated
Aneurin, is supposed by the learned Dr. Leyden to have been fought
on the skirts of Ettricke Forest. It is known to the English reader
by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning —

" Had I but the torrent's might,
With heudlun;; rage and wild affright," &c.

But it is not generally known that the champions mourned in this
beautiful dirge were the British inhabitants of Edinburgh, who were
cut off by the Saxons of Deira, or Northumberland, about the latter
part of the sixth century. Llywarch, the celebrated bard and mon-
arch, was Prince of Argood, in Cumberland ; and his youthful ex-
ploits were performed upon the Border. As for Merlin Wylit, or
the savage, his name of Caledonian, and his retreat into the Caledo-
nian Wood, appropriate him to Scotland.

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring. — P. 306.
A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies still
lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain upon
the ridge of ivlinchmore, called the Cheese Well, is supposed to be
sacred to these fanciful spirits ; and it was customary to propitiate
them by throwing in something upon passing it. A pin was the
usual oblation, and the ceremony is still sometimes practised, though
rather in jest than earnest.

For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay. — P. 308.
Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition,
ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation committed
by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors, Caba, or Cava. She
was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's prin-
cipal lieutenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged
in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the
ingratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter,
Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot; and,
forming an alliance with Musa, then the caliph's lieutenant in Africa,
he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and
Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik, the issue of which
was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost
the whole Peninsula by the Moors. The Spaniards, in detestation
of Florinda's memory, are said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that
name upon any human female, reserving it for their dogs.

The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell. — P. 311.
The Tecbir (derived from the words Alia acbar, " God is most
mighty ") was the original war-cry of the Saracens. The Lelie, well
known to the Christians during the crusades, is the shout of Alia
ilia A lla, the Mohammedan confession of faith.

" By heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Chi istians yield!" — P. 311.
Count Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, with the conniv-
ance and assistance of Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, invited, in 713,
the Saracens into Spain. A considerable army arrived under the
command of Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed the well-known name
of Gibraltar (Gibel al Tarik, or the Mountain of Tarik) to the place
of his landing. He was joined by Count Julian; ravaged Andalusia,

NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, OPV

*ud took Seville. In 711 tliey returned with a still greater force, and
Roderick marched into Andalusia, at the head of a great army, to
give them battle.

When for the light Bolero ready stand. — P. 314.

The Bolero is a very light and active dance, much practised by the
Spaniards, in which castanets are always used. Mozo and Muchacha
are equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass.

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, " Castile!"— P. 316.

The heralds at the coronation of a Spanish monarch proclaim his
name three times, and repeat three times the word Castilla, Castilla,
Cast ilia!

Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.—?. 320.

I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French army
that sublime passage in the prophecies of Joel, which seems appli-
cable to them in more respects than that I have adopted in the test.
See Joel ii. 2-10.

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. — P. 321.

Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the cam-
paign of 1810-11 will do them less honour in history than their
humanity, attentive to soften to the utmost of their power the hor-
rors of war. Soup-kitchens were established by subscription among
the officers, wherever the troops were quartered for any length of
time. The commissaries contributed the heads, feet, &c, of the cattle
slaughtered for the soldiery ; rice, vegetables, and bread, where it
could be had, were purchased by the officers. Fifty or sixty starv-
ing peasants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishments,
and carried home the relics to their famished households. The ema-
ciated wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, were speedily
employed in pruning their vines. While pursuing Massena, the sol-
diers evinced the same spirit of humanity; and, in many instances,
when reduced themselves to short allowance, from having out-
marched their supplies, they shared their pittance with the starving
inhabitants who had ventured back to view the ruins of their habi-
tations, burned by the retreating enemy, and to bury the bodies of
their relations whom they had butchered.

Vain-glorious fugitive ! yet turn again /—P. 322.
The French conducted this memorable retreat with much of the
fanfaronnade proper to their country. On the 30th March, 1811,
their rear-guard was overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry.
Being well posted, and conceiving themselves safe from infantry
(who were, indeed, many miles in the rear), and from artillery, they
indulged themselves in parading their bands of music, and actually
performed " God save the King." Their minstrelsy was, however,
deranged by the undesired accompaniment of the British horse-
artillery, on whose part in the concert they had not calculated. The
surprise was sudden, and the rout complete.

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain. — P. 322.
In the severe action of Fuentes d'Honoro, upon 5th May, 1811, the
grand mass of the French cavalry attacked the right of the British
position, covered by two guns of the horse-artillery and two squad-
rons of cavalry. After sutl'ering considerably from the fire of the
guns, which annoyed them in every attempt to formation, the enemy
turned their wrath entirely towards them, distributed brandy among
their troopers, and advanced to carry the field-pieces with the des-
peration of drunken fury. They were in no ways checked by the
heavy loss which they sustained in this daring attempt, but closed,
and fairly mingled with the British cavalry, to whom they bore the
proportion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay, who commanded the
two guns, dismissed them at the gallop, and, putting himself at the
head of the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall upon the

598 NOTES TO EOKEBT.

French, sabre in hanrl. This very unexpected conversion of artillery-
men into dragoons contributed greatly to the defeat of the enemy,
already disconcerted by the reception they had met with from the
two British squadrons; and the appearance of some small reinforce-
ments, notwithstanding the immense disproportion of force, put
tliem to absolute rout.

And tvhat avails thee that, for Cameron slain.— P. 322.
The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during the
desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes d'Honoro.
He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 71st aud 79th, who
raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. They charged with irre-
sistible fury the finest body of French grenadiers ever seen, being a
part of Buonaparte's selected guard.

0 who shall grudge him Albuera's bays. — P. 323.
Nothing during the war of Portugal seems more deserving of
praise than the self-devotion of Field-Marshal Beresford, who was
contented to undertake all the hazard of obloquy which might have
been founded upon any miscarriage in the highly-important experi-
ment of training the Portuguese troops to an improved state of dis-
cipline. In exposing his military reputation to the censure of im-
prudence from the most moderate, and all manner of unutterable
calumuies from the ignorant and malignant, he placed at stake the
dearest pledge which a military man had to offer; and nothing but
the deepest conviction of the high and essential importance attached
to success can be supposed an adequate motive.

Than when wild Honda learned the conquering shout of Grceme. —

P. 323.
This stanza alludes to the various achievements of the warlike
family of Grajme, or Grahamc.

ROKEBY.

On Barnard's towers and Tees's stream. — P. S27.

Barnard Castle, saith old Leland, " standeth stately upon Tees."
It is founded upon a very high bank, and its ruins impend over the
river, including within the area a circuit of six acres and upwards.
This once magnificent fortress derives its name from its founder,
Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short and unfortunate dynasty
of that name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne under the
patronage of Edward I. and Edward III. Baliol's tower, afterwards
mentioned in the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated at
the western extremity of the building. It bears marks of great
antiquity, and was remarkable for the curious construction of its
vaulted roof.

And the buff-coat in ample fold. — P. 329.

The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into disuse during
the civil war, though they were still worn by leaders of rank and
importance. "In the reign of King James I.," says our military
antiquary, "no great alterations were made in thearticle of defensive
armour, except that the bulf-coat, or jerkin, which was originally
worn under the cuirass, now became frequently a substitute for it,
it having been found that a good buff leather would of itself resist
the stroke of a sword; this, however, only occasionally took place
among the light-armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits oi
armour being still used among the heavy horse." — Grose's Military
Antiquities.

NOTES TO ROKEBV. f,!)D

O.i his dark face a scorching clime. — 1\ 330.

In this character I have attempted to sketch one of those Vest-
Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth
century, were popularly known by the name of Buccaneers. The
successes of the English iu the predatory incursions upon Spanish
America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been forgotten ;
and from that period downward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh
were imitated, upon a smaller scale, indeed, but with equally despe-
rate valour, by small hands of pirates, gathered from all nations,
but chiefly French and English.

Monckton and Mitt on told the news. — P. S36.
Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, and not
very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of the action
were violently disputed at the time.

The moated mound of Risingham. — P. 336.
Bisingham, upon the river Peed, near the heautiful hamlet of
Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called Habitat.-
cum. Camden says, that in his time the popular account bore that
it had been the abode of a deity or giant, called Magon.

An outlaw's image on the stone. — P. 336.
About half a mile distant from Risingham, upon an eminence
covered with scattered birch-trees and fragments of rock, there is
cut upon a large rock, in alto-relievo, a remarkable figure, called
Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Reedsdale. It presents a hunter,
with his bow raised in one hand, and in the other what seems to be
a hare. There isaquiver at the back of the figure, and he is dressed
in a long coat, or kirtle, coming down to the knees, and meeting
close, with a girdle bound round him. The popular tradition is,
that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at Woodburn, and
he himself at Risingham.

The statutes of the Buccaneer. — P. 337.
The "statutes of the Buccaneers" were, in reality, moreequitahle
than could have been expected from the state of society under
which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as may readily
be conjectured, to the distribution and the inheritance of their
plunder.

Down his deep woods the course of Tecs.— P. 343.
The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and magnificent
valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the river, the banks are
very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they are more open and
cultivated; but being interspersed with hedge-rows, and with iso-
lated trees of great size and age, they still retain the richness qi
woodland scenery. The river itself flows in a deep trench of solid
rock, chiefly limestone and marble. The finest view of its romantic
course is from a handsome modern-built bridge over the Tees, by
the late Mr. Morritt of Rokeby.

And Eglistonc's grey ruins passed. — P. 314.
The ruins of this abbey or priory are beautifully situated upon
the angle formed by a little dell called Thorsgill, at its junciion
with the Tees. Eglistone was dedicated to St. Mary and St. John
the Baptist, and is supposed to have been founded by Ralph de
Multon about the end of Henry the Second's reign. There were
formerly the tombs of the families of Rokebys, Bowes, and Fitz-
hughs.

Raised by that legion long renowned. — P. 315.
Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a well-
preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch,
lying between the river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. Vcr7

600 NOTES TO ROK.EBY.

many Koman altars and monuments have been found in the vici-
nity.

AieoJcc, when Rokcby's turrets high. — P. 815.
This ancient, manor long gave name to a family by whom it is
said to have been possessed from the Conquest downward, and who
are at different times distinguished in history. The Rokeby, or
Rokesby, family continued to be distinguished until the great civil
war, when, having embraced the cause of Charles I., they suffered
severely by fines and confiscations. The estate then passed from
its ancient possessors.

What gales are sold on Lapland's shore. — P. 348.

Olaus Magnus states that the Findlanders were wont formerly to
sell winds to merchants that were stopped on their coasts by contrary
weather.

How whistle rash bids tempests roar. — P. 348.

That this is a general superstition is well known to all who have
been on ship-board, or who have conversed with seamen. The most
formidable whistler, that I remember to have met with was the ap-
parition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, about 1636, resided, we are
told, at Mynehead, in Somerset.

Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light. — P. 348.
" Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held second to none in
the magical art; and he was so familiar with the evil spirits, which
he exceedingly adored, that which way soever he turned his cap,
the wind would presently blow that way. From this occasion he
was called Windy Cap." — Olaus Magnus.

The Dosmon- frig ate braves the gale. — P. 318.

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical superstition concern-
ing a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying Dutchman, and
supposed to be seen about the latitude of the' Cape of Good Hope.
She is distinguished from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail
when all others are unable, from stress of weather, to show an inch
of canvas.

How, by some desert isle or key. — P. 348.

What contributed much to the security of the Buccaneers, about
the Windward Islands, was the great number of little islets, called
in that country keys. These are small sandy patches, appearing
just above the surface of the ocean, covered only with a few bushes
and weeds, but sometimes affording springs of water, and in general
much frequented by turtle. Such little uninhabited spots afforded
the pirates good harbours, either for refitting or for the purpose of
ambush ; they were occasionally the hiding place of their treasure,
and often afforded a shelter to themselves.

Before tlie gate of Mortham stood. — P. 350.
The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms " Mr. Eokesby's place,
in ripa citer, scant a quarter of mile from Greta Bridge, and not a
quarter of a mile beneath into Tees," is a picturesque tower, sur-
rounded by buildings of different ages. The battlements of the
tower itself are singularly elegant, the architect having broken
them at regular intervals into different heights; while those at the
corners of the tower project into octangular turrets. A wall with
embrasures encloses the southern front, where a low portal arch
affords an entry to what was the castle court. At some distance is
most happily placed, between the stems of two magnificent elms,
the monument alluded to in the text. It is said to have been
brought from the ruins of Eglistone priory, and appears to have
been "a tomb of the Fitz- Hughs. The situation of Mortham is emi-
nently beautiful, occupying a high bank, at the bottom of which the
Greta winds out of the dark, narrow, and romantic dell which the
the text has attempted to describe.

NOTES TO ROKEBT. gOl

And hid the dead your treasure keep.—V. 351.
If time did not permit the Buccaneers to lavish away their Blunder
in their usual debaucheries, they were wont to hido it ;ti, „n,ler

SSSffi" &""*?> h\ ^f dS Panels aVdke^s'X'hXy
fi equented The most cruel of mankind are often the most su, er
sitious, and these p,rates are said to have had recourse™" a ho rrid
ntual in order to secure an unearthly guardian to their treasures
They killed a Negro or Spaniard, and buried lum with the treasure'
SSSSSS.*-* S SPlrit W0Uld haXUlt tbe Sp0t' ^ terr^awayTli
Of Brackcnbury's dismal tower.— V. 355.
This tower is situated near the north-eastern extremity of the

a flSjss?" Barnard castie- and is «»«*sot*Si

//i Redesdale his youth had heard— P 358
The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were in ancW
times, so inordinately addicted to depredation .tha™ isfi the iS*
corporated .Merchant-adventurers of Newcastle made a law tl
?„i J?™. mthese ^"Cts should be admitted a mrenticT Th,
inhabitants are stated to be so generally addicted to S fc ^o
faith should be reposed in those proceeding from "rach Tewde and
unUiei7?rSemt'°rS- ThlS re^ation cont&ued to standunTepealed

When Rooken-edge and Redsicair high.— P 358
Reidswair famed for a skirmish to which it gives name is on +1,„
very edge of the Carter-Fell, which divides Engllnd frZ'Scotlnd!
1 lie Rooken is a place upon Reed- Water. Scotland.

Of old, the cavern strait and rude.—V 364
The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge abound in
seams of a greyish slate, which are wrought n some places to «
very great depth under ground, thus forming "artificial caverns
?„ A hen ti'e ^am has been exhausted, are gra.luaUy hidden bv
of theriveT.°0dWlUCh&r0W8 iD Pr0fusi0n Wontoe romantic bannks

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride — P 372
T^e=i1r-tlinS10f Eavensworth Castle stand in the North Riding of

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale — P 372

Vy^introSent^r.0^ Cr0SS ™th U-s P^imeni, surrounded
ry an intienUiment, upon the very summit of the waste rid^e rf
fetanmore. The situation of the cross, and the pain! taken tSde
importance3.111 t0 ^^ thut tt ™S intended ^ a iSJdM, 5

When Denmark's Raven soared on high.—V 373
io^b0ntT the ye,aT of God 866- the Danes, under their 'celebrated

berland brin^nt ^fw/^ R>egnar ^oclbrog, invaded Northuml
toned in ?no?Jlg J^i ,th>em the ma??cal standard, so often men-
&e of a raven7' REAPE** °r Rumfan' from its bearing ««

Thundering o'er Caldron and nigh Force.—? 373
The Tees rises about the skirts of Cross-Fell and falls over the
EvWh^lW6 £xt b„efore jt leaves the mountainTwh.h
fiv" fert& he°ghtRlding fr°m Cumbcrland- High Force is seventy-

602 NOTES TO ROKEBT.

Fixed on each vale a Runic name.—V. 373.
The heathen Danes have left several traces of their religion in the
npper part of Teesdale. Balder-garth, which derives its name from
the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste land on the very-
ridge of Stanmore ; and a brook, which falls into the Tees near Bar-
nard Castle, is named after the same deity. A field upon the banks
of the Tees is also termed Woden-Croft, from the supreme deity of
the Edda. Thorsgill, of which a description is attempted in Stanza
II., is a beautiful little brook and dell, running up behind the ruins
of Eglistone Abbey. Thor was the Hercules of the Scandinavian
mythology.

Who has not heard how brave O'Neale. — P. 375.
The^p'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded to the
chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grand-
son of Con O'Neale, called Con Bacco, or the Lame. His father,
Matthew O'Kolly, was illegitimate, and, being the eon of a black-
smith's wife, was usually called Matthew the Blacksmith. His
father, nevertheless, destined his succession to him ; and he was
created, by Elizabeth, Baron of Dimgannon. Upon the death of Con
Bacco, this Matthew was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly
escaped the same fate, and was protected by the English. Shane
O'Neale, his uncle, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by Turlough
Lynogh O'Neale; after whose death, Hugh having assumed the
chieftainship, became nearly as formidable to the English as any by
whom it had been possessed. He rebelled repeatedly, and as often
made submissions, of which it was usually a condition that he
should not any longer assume the title of O'Neale ; in h'eu of which
he was created Earl of Tyrone. But this condition he never observed
longer than until the pressure of superior force was withdrawn.
His baffling the gallant Earl of Essex in the field, and over-reaching
him in a treaty, was the induction to that nobleman's tragedy.
Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugating O'Neale; but it
was not till the succession of James, to whom he made personal sub-
mission, and was received with civility at court.

The Tanist he to great O'Neale. — P. 375.
"It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that, presently after the
death of one of their chiefe lords or captaines, they doe presently
assemble themselves to a place generally appointed and knowue
unto them, to choose another in his stead; where they do nominate
and elect, for the most part, not the eldest sonne, nor any of the
children of the lord deceased, but the next to him in blood, — that is,
the eldest and worthiest, as commonly the next brother unto him, if
he have any, or the next cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in that
kindred or sept ; and then next to him doe they choose the next of
the blood to be Tanist, who shall next succeed him in the said
captainry, if he live thereunto." The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale,
was the heir-apparent of his power. — Spenser.

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread. — P. 376.
The ancient Irish dress was (the bonnet excepted) very similar to
that of the Scottish Highlanders. The want of a covering on the
head was supplied by the mode of plaiting and arranging their hair,
which was called the glibbe.

With wild majestic port and tone. — P. 376.
The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and with
each other, were wont to assume the language and style of inde-
pendent royalty.

His foster-father was his guide.— P. 377.
There was no tie more sacred among the Irish than that which con-
nected the foster-father, as well as the nurse herself, with the child
thej brought up.

NOTES TO ROKESY. G03

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine.—V. 379.
Niell Naighvalkieh, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to have been
monarch of all Ireland, during the end of the fourth or beginning of
the fifth century. He exercised a predatory warfare on the coast of
England and Bretagne, or Armorica; and from the latter country
brought off the celebrated Saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among
other captives, whom he transported to Ireland. Neal derived his
epithet from nine nations or tribes, whom he held under his subjec-
tiun, and from whom he took hostages.

Shane Dymas wild, and Geraldine. — P. 379.
Shane Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and power of
O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, against whom he
rebelled repeatedly. The O'Neales were closely allied with the
powerful and warlike family of Geraldine ; for Henry Owen O'Neale
married the daughter of Thomas Earl of Kildare, and their son Con
More married his cousin-german, a daughter of Gerald Earl of Kil-
dare. This Con More cursed any of his posterity who should learn
the English language, sow corn, or build houses, so as to invite the
English to settle in their country. Others ascribe this anathema to
his son Con Bacco.

In that old time to chivalry. — P. 380.
Originally the order of chivalry embraced three ranks: — 1. The
Page; 2. The Squire; 3. The Knight ; — a gradation which seems to
have been imitated in the mystery of free-masonry. But before the
reign of Charles I., the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into
disuse, though the order of the page was still, to a certain degree,
in observance. This state of servitude was so far from inferring
anything degrading, that it was considered as the regular school for
acquiring every quality necessary for future distinction.

The ancient Hall before him lay. — P. 389.
The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of tlio
present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. It is sur-
rounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in which it stands
is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of the Tees.

Nought knovj'st thou of the Felon Sow.—F. 393.
The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a serious strain of
i omance. The comic romance was a sort of parody upon the usual
subjects of minstrel poetry. One of the very best of these mock
romances, and which has no small portion of comic humour, is the
Hunting of the Felon Sow of llokeby by the Friars of Richmond.

The Filea of O'Neale was he.—Y. 393.
The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as the
name literally implies, poet. Each chieftain of distinction had one
or more in his service, whose office was usually hereditarj'.

Ah, Clandeboy! thy kindly floor. — P. 394.
Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept
of the O'Neales; and Slieve-Donard, a romantic mountain in the same
province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebellion, and
their places of abode laid desolate.

On Marwood-chase and Toller mil. — P. 395.
Marwood-chase is the old park, extending along the Durham side
of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Bill is an eminence
on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb view of
the ruins.

And Scotland's vaunted JJawthornden. — P. 396.
Drutnmond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of Ins reputation
as a poet during the civil wars. He died in 1649.

604 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

WacCfurtin's harp should charm no more. — P. 396.

MacCurtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Munster, and Filea to
Donough, Earl of Thoinond and President of Munster. This noble-
man was amongst those who were prevailed upon to join Elizabeth's
forces.

O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove. — P. 420.

This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers is men-
tioned in the interesting Life of Bernard Gilpin, where some account
is given of these wild districts, which it was the custom of that
excellent man regularly to visit.

A horseman armed, at headlong speed. — P. 426.
This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement of Major
Pobert Philipson, called, from his desperate and adventurous courage,
Uobin the Devil.

THE LORD OP THE ISLES.

Thy rugged halls, Artomish ! rung. — P. 432.

The ruins of the castle of Artomish are situated upon a promon-
tory on the Morven, or mainland side of the Sound of Mull, a name
given to the deep arm of the sea which divides that island from the
continent. The situation is wild and romantic in the highest degree,
having on the one hand a high and precipitous chain of rocks over-
hanging the sea, and on the other the narrow entrance to the beauti-
ful salt-water lake called Loch-Alline, which is in many places finely
fringed with copse-wood. The ruins of Artomish are not now very
considerable, and consist chiefly of the remains of an old keep, or
tower, with fragments of outward defences. But, in former days, it
was a piace of great consequence, being one of the principal strong-
holds which the Lords of the Isles, during the period of their stormy
independence, possessed upon the mainland of Argyleshire. _ The
castle of Artornish is almost opposite to the bay of Aros, in the
island of Mull, where there was another castle, the occasional resi-
dence of the Lord of the Isles.

Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark. — P. 432.

Seals display a taste for music, and will long follow a boat in which
any musical instrument is played; and even a tune simply whistled
has attractions for them.

O'erlooked, dark Mull ! thy mighty Sound. — P. 434.

The Sound of Mull, which divides that island from the continent
of Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the Hebrides
afford to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, or Tobermory,
through a narrow channel, yet deep enough to bear vessels of the
largest burden, he has on his left the bold and mountainous shores
of Mull ; on the right those of that district of Argyleshire called
Morven or Morvern, successively indented by deep salt-water lochs,
running up many miles inland. To the south-eastward rises a
prodigious range of mountains, among which Ben Cruachan is
pre-eminent ; and to the north-east is the no less huge and pictur-
esque range of the Ardnamurchan Hills. Many ruinous castles,
situated generally upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to
the scene.

From where Mingarry, sternly placed. — P. 435.

The castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of the district
of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which are tolerably entire, are sur-
rounded by a very high wall, forming a kind of polygon, for the

NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 60S

purpose of adapting itself to the projecting angles of a precipice
overhanging the sea, on which the castle stands. It was anciently
the resilience of the Maclans, a clan of MacDonalds, descended from
Ian, or John, a grandson of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles.

The Heir of mighty Somerled.— P. 435.
Somerled was Thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles about the
middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exercised his
authority in both capacities independent of the crown of Scotland,
against which he often stood in hostility. He made various incur-
sions upon the western Lowlands during the reign of Malcolm IV.,
and seems to have made peace with him upon the terms of an inde-
pendent prince, about the year 1157. In 1164 he resumed the war
against Malcolm, and invaded Scotland with a large, but probably a
tumultuary army, collected in the isles, in the mainland of Argyle-
shire, and in the neighbouring provinces of Ireland. He was
defeated and slain in an engagement with a very inferior force, near
Renfrew. His son Gilbcolane fell in the same battle. This mighty
chieftain married a daughter of Olaus, king of Man. From him our
genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in the stormy his-
tory of the middle ages; the Lords of the Isles, descended from his
elder son, Ronald ; and the Lords of Lorn, who took their surname of
MacDougal, as descended of his second son, Dougal.

Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name. — P. 435.

The representative of this independent principality was, at the
period of the poem, Angus, called Angus Og ; but the name bus
been, euphonice gratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, which fre-
quently occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert
Bruce, wiiom he received in his castle of Dunavcrty, during the
time of his greatest distress.

A daughter of the House of Lorn. — P. 436.

The house of Lorn was, like that of the Lords of the Isles, descended
from a sou of Somerled, slain at Renfrew, in 1164. This son obtained
the succession of his mainland territories, comprehending the greater
part of the three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire; and the possessors
of such extensive authority of course might rather be considered as
petty princes than feudal barons. They assumed the patronymic
appellation of MacDougal, by which they are distinguished in the
history of the middle ages.

Those lightnings of the wave. — P. 440.
The phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the most
beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in the Hebrides; at
times the ocean appears entirely illuminated around the vessel, and
a long train of lambent coruscations are perpetually bursting upon
the sides of the vessel, or pursuing her wake through the darkness.

Sought the dark fortress by a stair. — P. 441.
The fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost always on the sea-
shore, for the facility of communication which the ocean afforded.
Nothing can be more wild than the situations which they chose, and
the devices by which the architects endeavoured to defend theni.
Narrow stab's and arched vaults were the usual mode of access, anil
the drawbridge appears at Dunstaffuage, and elsewhere, to have
fallen from the gate of the building to the top of such a staircase.
These fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty of the
watch devolved chiefly upon an officer called the Cockman.

And that keen knight, De Argentine. — P. 445.
Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most accom-
plished knights of the period. He had served in the wars of Henry
of Luxemburg with such high reputation, that he was, in popular
estimation, the third worthy of the age.

606 NOTES TO TI1E LORD OF THE ISLE3.

" Fill me the mighty cup ! " he said. — P. 4-15.

A Hebridean driuking-cup, of the most ancient and curious work-
manship, has been long preserved in the castle of Dunvogan, in
Skye, the romantic seat of MacLeod of MacLeod, the chief of that
anciunt and powerful clan. The horn of Rorie More, preserved in
the same family, and recorded by "Dr. Johnson, is not to be compared
with this piece of antiquity, which is one of the greatest curiosities
in Scotland. It is nine inches and three-quarters in inside depth,
and ten and a half in height on the outside, the extreme measure
over the lips being four inches and a half. The cup is divided into
two parts by a wrought ledge, beautifully ornamented, about three-
fourths of an inch in breadth. Beneath this ledge the shape of the
cup is rounded off, and terminates in a flat circle, like that of a tea-
cup : four short feet support the whole. Above the projecting ledge
the shape of the cup is nearly square, projecting outward at the
brim. The cup is made of wood (oak to all appearance), but most
curiously wrought and embossed with silver-work, which projects
from the vessel. There are a number of regular projecting sockets,
which appear to have been set with stones; two or three of them
still hold pieces of coral, the rest are empty. At the four corners of
the projecting ledge, or cornice, are four sockets much larger, pro-
bably for pebbles or precious stones. The workmanship of the silver
is extremely elegant, and appears to have been highly gilded. The
ledge, brim, and legs of the cup, are of silver. The family tradition
bears that it was the property of Neil Ghlune-dhu, or Black-knee.
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew. — P. 4-17.

Rath-Erin, or Raehrine, the Recina of Ptolemy, a small island, lying
almost opposite to the shores of Ballyeastle, on the coast of Ireland.

The brooch of Lorn. — P. 448.
Robert Brace, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed by
the English, endeavoured, with the dispirited remnant of his fol-
lowers, to escape from Breadalbane and the mountains of Perth-
shire into the Argyleshire Highlands. But he was encountered and
repulsed, after a very severe engagement, by the Lord of Lorn.
Bruce's personal strength and courage were never displayed to
greater advantage than in this conflict. There is a tradition in the
family of the MacDougals of Lorn, that their chieftain engaged in
personal battle with Bruce himself, while the latter was employed
in protecting the retreat of his men ; that MacDougal was struck
down by the king, whoso strength of body was equal to his vigoiu-
of mind, and would have been slain on the spot, had not two of
Lorn's vassals, a father and son, whom tradition terms MacKeoch,
rescued him, by seizing the mantle of the monarch, and dragging
him from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of these foes by
two blows of his redoubted battle-axe; but was so closely pressed
by the other followers of Lorn, that he was forced to abandon tha
mantle, and brooch which fastened it, clasped in the dying grasp of
the MacKeochs. A studded brooch, said to have been that which
King Robert Bruce lost upon this occasion, was long preserved in the
family of MacDougal, and was lost in a fire which consumed their
temporary residence.

Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand. — P. 448.
The. gallant Sir James, called the Good Lord Douglas, the most
faith ful and valiant of Bruce's adherents, was wounded at the battle
of Dairy. Sir Nigel, or Niel Campbell, was also in that unfortunate
skirmish. He married Marjorie, sister to Robert Bruce, and was
among his most faithful followers.

i" brought thee, like a paramour. — P. 453.
It was anciently customary in the Highlands to bring the bride to
the house of the husband. Nay, in some cases the complaisance was
stretched so far, that she remained there upon trial for a twelve-

NOTES TO THE LOUD OF THE ISLE?. 6'07

month, and the bridegroom, even after this period, retained an
option of refusing to fulfil his engagement. It is said that a despe-
rate feud ensued between the elans of MacDonald of Sleate and
MaeLeod, owing to the former chief having availed himself of this
licence to send back to Dunvegan a sister or daughter of the latter.
MacLeod, resenting the indignity, observed, that since there was no
wedding bonfire, there should be one to solemnize the divorce. Ac-
cordingly he burned and laid waste the territories of MacDonald,
who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all its accompaniments, took
place in form.

Where's Nigel Bruce t and De la Uaye. — P. 454.
When these lines were written, the author was remote from the
means of correcting his indistinct recollection concerning the indi-
vidual fate of Bruce's followers, after the battle of Methven. Hugh
de la Haye and Thomas Somerville of Liutoun and Cowdally, ances-
tor of Lord Somerville, were both made prisoners at that defeat, but
neither was executed. Sir Nigel Bftice was the younger brother of
Robert, to whom he committed the charge of his wife and daughter,
Man one, and the defence of his strong castle of Kildmmmie, near
the head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire. Kildmmmie long resisted
the arms of the Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, until the magazine
was treacherously burnt. The garrison was then compelled to sur-
render at discretion, and Nigel Bruce, a youth remarkable for per-
sonal beauty as well as for gallantry, fell into the hands of the un-
relenting Edward. He was tried by a special commission at Ber-
wick, was condemned, and executed. Christopher Seatoun shared
the same unfortunate fate.

Was not the life of Athole shed.—'?. 454.
John de Strathbogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted to escape out of
tl-e kingdom, but a storm cast him upon the coast, when he was taken,
Bent to London, and executed, with circumstances of great barbarity..

By Woden wild (my grandsire's oath). — P. 454.
The MacLeods, and most other distinguished Hebridean families,
were of Scandinavian extraction, and some were late or imperfect
converts to Christianity.

In Palestine, with sword and lance. — P. 456.

Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction for
having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaughter of
Co) lyn; and finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his faith,
penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas to carry his
heart to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the Holy Sepulchre.
To speak my curse upon thy head. — P. 456.

So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, Brace
and his adherents were excommunicated. It was published first by
the Archbishop of York, and renewed at different times, particularly
by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, in 1308; but it does not
appear to have answered the purpose which the English monarch
expected. Indeed, for reasons which it may be difficult to trace,
the thunders of Rome descended upon the Scottish mountains with
less effect than in more fertile countries. Probably the compara-
tive poverty of the benefices occasioned that fewer foreign clergy
settled in Scotland, and the interests of the native churchmen were
linked with that of their country. Many of the Scottish prelates,
Lambyrton the primate particularly, declared for Bruce, while lie
was yet under the ban of the Church, although he afterwards again
changed sides.

A hunted wanderer on the wild. — P. 457.
This is not metaphorical The echoes of Scotland did actually

V.'lih the blooibounis that tijtJ for bar fugitiix !.

608 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

" Even I" — he paused; for Falkirk's woes. — P. 460.
I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that Bruce
fought against Wallace aud the array of Scotland at the fatal battle
of Falkirk. There is full evidence that Bruce was not at that time
on the English side, nor present at the battle of Falkirk; nay, that
he acted as a guardian of Scotland, along with John Ccmyn, in tho
name of Baliol, and in opposition to the English.

Deep in Strath-aird's enchanted cell. — P. 470.
Imagination can hardly conceive anything more beautiful than
the extraordinary grotto discovered not many years since upon the
estate of Alexander Mac Allister, Esq., of Strath-aird. It has since
been much and deservedly celebrated, and a full account of its
beauties has been published by Dr. MacLeay of Oban.

From Canna's toioer, that, steep and grey. — P. 475.
The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins those of Rum and
Muick, with which it forms one parish. In a pretty bay opening
towards the east, there is a lofty and slender rock, detached from
the shore. Upon the summit are the ruins of a very small tower,
scarcely accessible by a steep and precipitous path. Here it is said
one of the kings, or Lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, of
whom he was jealous. The ruins are of course haunted by her rest-
less spirit, and many romantic stories are told by the aged people of
the island, concerning her fate in life, and her appearances after death.

Her path by Ronin's mountains dark. — P. 476.
Ronin fpopularly called Rum) is a very rough aud mountainous
island, adjacent to those of Eigg and Canna.

For hunting-spear took loarrior's brand. — P. 476.
This refers to a dreadful tale of feudal vengeance, of which,
unfortunately, there are relics that still attest the truth. Scoor-
Eigg is a high peak in the centre of the small isle of Eigg, or Egg.

Then dragged their bark the isthmus o'er. — P. 478.
The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South Knapdale by a very
narrow isthmus, formed by the western and eastern Loch of Tarbat.

And bade Loch-Rama smile. — P. 478.
Loch-Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity of
Arran, opening towards East Tarbat Loch. Ben-Ghaoil, " the
Mountain of the Winds," is generally known b3rits Euglish, and less
poetical name, of Goattield.

A woman in her last distress. — P. 485.
This incident, which illustrates so happily the chivalrous gene-
rosity of Bruce's character, is one of the many simple and natural
traits recorded by Barbour. It ocetuTed during the expedition which
Bruce made to Ireland, to support the pretensions of his brother
Edward to the throne of that kingdom. Bruce was about to retreat,
and his host was arrayed for moving.

Where Druids erst heard victims groan. — P. 490.
The Isle of Arran, like those of Man and Anglesea, abounds with
many relics of heathen, and probably Druidical, superstition.
There are high erect columns of unhewn stone, the most early of all
monuments, the circles Of rude stones, commonly entitled Druidical,
aud the cairns, or sepulchral piles, withiu which are usually found
urns enclosing ashes.

Old Brodick's Gothic towers were seen. — P. 490.
Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of Arran, is an ancient
fortress, near an open roadstead called Brodick Bay, and not far dis-
tant from' a tolerable harbour, closed in by the Island of Lamlash.

NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 609

Now ask you whence that wondrous light. — P. 496.
Tt is still generally reported, and religiously believed by many,
that this fire was really the work of supernatural power, unassisted
by the hand of any mortal being ; and it is said, that, for several
centuries, the flame rose yearly on the same hour of the same night
of the year, on which the king first saw it from the turrets of Bro-
dick Castle ; and some go so far as to say, that if the exact time were
known, it would be still seen.

Left for the Castle's sylvan reign. — P. 197.
The castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the pro-
perty of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Around the cast la
was a level plain of about two miles in extent, forming the castle park.

The Bruce hath won his father's hall! — P. 503.
I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that Bruco,
after Ids descent upon the coast of Ayrshire, actually gained posses-
sion of his maternal castle. But the tradition is not accurate. The
fact is, that he was only strong enough to alarm and drive in the
outposts of the English garrison, then commanded, not by Clifford,
as assumed in the text, but by Percy. Neither was Clifford slain
upon this occasion, though he had several skirmishes with Bruce.
He fell afterwards in the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, after
alarming the castle of Turnberry, and surprising some part of tho
garrison, who were quartered without the walls of the fortress,
retreated into the mountainous part of Carrick, and there made
himself so strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Turn-
berry, and at length the castle of Ayr.

Let Ettricke's archers sharp their darts. — P. 504.
The forest of Selkirk, or Ettricke, at this period, occupied all the
district which retains that denomination, and embraced the neigh-
bouring dales of Tweeddale, and at least the upper ward of Clydes-
dale. All that tract was probably as waste as it is mountainous,
and covered with the remains of the ancient Caledonian forest,
which is supposed to have stretched from the Cheviot Hills as far as
Hamilton, and to have comprehended even a part of Ayrshire. At
the fatal battle of Falkirk, Sir John Stewart of Bonkill, brother to
the steward of Scotland, commanded the archers of Selkirk forest,
who fell around the dead body of their leader.

When Randolph's war-cry swelled Vie southern gale. — P. 504.
Thomas Randolph, son of Bruce's sister, a renowned Scottish
chief, was, in the early part of his life, not more remarkable for con-
sistency than Bruce himself.

Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had Uie care.— P. 508.
Fitz- Louis, or Mac-Louis, otherwise called Fullarton, is a family
of ancient descent on the Isle of Arran. They are said to be of
French origin, as the name intimates. They attached themselves to
Bruce upon his first landing; and Fergus Mac- Louis, or Fullarton,
received from the grateful monarch a charter, dated 26th November,
in the second year of his reign (1307), for the lands of Kilmichel,
and others, which still remain in this very ancient and respect-
able family.

The Monarch rode along the van.— P. 510.
The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of Gloucester and
Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army upon the evening of
the 23d of June. Bruce was then riding upon a little palfrey, in
front of his foremost line, putting his host in order. It was then
that the personal encounter took place betwixt him and Sir Henry
de Bohun, a gallant English knight, the issue of which Lad a great
effect upon the spirits of both armies.

o'i

610 NOTES TO GIENEINLAS AND EVE OE ST. JOHN.

Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed. — P. 514.
There is an old tradition, that the well-known Scottish tune of
" Hey, tutti taitti," was Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock-
burn. The late Mr. Bitson doubts whether the Scots had any mar-
tial music, and quotes Froissart's account of each soldier in the host
bearing a little horn, on which, at the onset, they would make a
horrible noise. He observes, that these horns are the only music
mentioned by Barbour, and concludes, that it must remain a moot-
point whether Bruce's army was cheered by the sound even of a soli-
tary bagpipe. But the tradition, true or false, has been the means
of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyrics in the language, the
celebrated war-song of Bruce, —

" Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled."

See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands. — P. 515.
" Maurice, abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eminence,
celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then passed
along the front, bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix in his hands,
and exhorting the Scots, in few and forcible words, to combat for
their rights and their liberty. The Scots kneeled down. " They
yield!" cried Edward; " see, they implore mercy I" "They do,"
answered Ingelram de Umfraville, "but not ours. On that field
they will be victorious or die." — Annals of Scotland.

CONTRIBUTIONS TO BORDER MINSTRELSY.

GLENFINLAS.

Well can the Saxon widows tell. — P. 527.
The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to
their Lowland neighbours.

How blazed Lord Ronald's Beltane tree.—T. 527.
The fires righted by the Highlanders, on the first of May, O.S., in
compliance with a custom derived from the days of Druidism, are
termed The Beltane tree. Beltane is a festival celebrated with vari-
ous superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.

Will good St. Oran's rule prevail.— -P. 529.

St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried
in Icolmkill. The chapel and the cemetery were catted Reilig Ouran;
and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to
pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. This is the rule
alluded to in the poem.

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer.— P. 532.

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c,
in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an abbot of Pitten-
weem, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit
in the wilds of Glenurchy, a.d. 649. The 9th of January was dedi-
cated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in llenfrew, and
St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife.

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

He came not from where Ancram Moor. — P. 534.

LordEvers, and Sir Brian Latoun, during the year 1544, committed

the most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish frontiers, compelling

mo3t of the inhabitants, and especially the men of Liddesdalo, to

take assurance under the King of England. Upon the 17th Novem-

NOTES TO CAD YOW CASTLE. 611

her. in that year, the suni total of their depredations stood thus, in
the bloody ledger of Lord Evers : —

Towns, towers, barnekyues, paryshe churches, bastill houses, burned and

destroyed .. .. .. .. .. . .. 192

Scots slain .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 403

Prisoners taken .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 816

Nolt (cattle) .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 10^88

Shepe .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 12,49-2

Nags and geldings .. .. .. .. .. .. 1,296

Gait .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 2u0

Boils of oorn .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 850

Insight gear, &c. (furniture) au incalculable quantity.

For these services Sir Ralph Evers was made a lord of parliament.
In 1545 they again entered Scotland, and even exceeded their former
cruelty. They penetrated as far as Melrose, but on their return to-
wards Jedburgh were followed by Angus, who defeated their army
at Ancram Moor, and slew both Evers and Latoun. The spot on
which the battle was fought is called • Lilyard's Edge, from au
Amazonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tradi-
tion, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as Squire
Witherington. The old people point out her monument, now broken
and defaced.

So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John. — P. 535.
This was a crucifix of black marble, much esteemed for its supe-
rior sanctity.

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en. — P. 536.
Dryburgh Abbey is beautifully situated on the banks of the Tweed.
It belonged to the order of Premonstratenses. It is now the seat
of the Earl of Buchan.

There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower. — P. 538.
The circumstance of the nun "who never saw the day," is not
entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortunate female
wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of
Dryburgh Abbey, which, during the day, she never quitted. When
night fell, she issued from this miserable habitation, and went to
the house of Mr. Halliburton of Newmains, or to that of Mr. Erskine
of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From their
charity she obtained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon
to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted her candle and
returned to her vault.

CADTOW CASTLE.

First of his troop, the chief rode on. — P, 540.
The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James,
Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of
the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her
lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted
father.

Stern Claud replied, with darkening face. — P. 540.

Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the Duke of Chatelherault,

and commendator of the abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part

during the troubles of Queen Mary's reign, and remained unalterably

attached to the cause of that unfortunate princess.

Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee.—V. 541.
This barony, stretching along the banks of the Eske, near Auchen-
diuny, belonged to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of
the mansion from whence she was expelled are still to be sceu in a
hollow glen beside the river.

612 NOTES TO THE GREY BROTHER.

He dashed his carbine on the ground.— T. 541.
The carbine with which the Regent was shot is preserved at Ha-
milton Palace. It is a brass piece of middling length, very small in
the bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been
rifled or indented in the barrel.

Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh. — P. 542.
The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the Regent.
George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of
Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball by which Mur-
ray fell.

And haggard Lindsay's iron eye. — P. 542.
Lord Lindsay of the Byres was employed to extort Mary's signa-
ture to the deed of resignation presented to her in Lochleven
Castle. He discharged his commission with savage rigour.

THE GREY BROTHER.

By Mast of bugle free. — P. 545.
The barony of Pcnnycuik is held by a singular tenure, the pro-
prietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky fragment, called the
Buckstane, and wind three blasts of a horn, when the king shall
come to hunt on the Borough Moor, near Edinburgh. Hence the
family have adopted as their crest a demi- forester proper, winding a
horn, with the motto, Free for a Blast. The beautiful mansion-
house of Pennycuik is much admired, both on account of the archi-
tecture and siirrounding scenery.

To Auchendinny's hazel glade.— P.545.
Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuik, was the
residence of Henry Mackenzie, author of the " Man of Feeling," &o.

Who knows not Melville's beeehy grove. — P. 545.
Melville Castle is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Lass-
wade. It gave the title of viscount to Lord Melville.

A nd Roslin's rocky glen. — P. 545.
The ruins of Roslin Castle, the Gothic chapel, which is still in
beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which
they are situated, belong to the Right Honourable the Earl of Ross-
lyn, the representative of the former lords of Roslin.

Dalkeith, which all the virtues love. — P. 545.
The castle of Dalkeith belonged of old to the famous Earl nf
Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch.
The park extends along the Eske, which is there joined by its sister
stream of the same name.

And classic Hawthornden. — P. 545.
Hawthornden. the residence of the poet Drummoud. Here Druin-
mond received Ben Johnsou, who journeyed from Loudon on foot in
order to visit him,

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